#ms heliotrope

[incorrect-quotes-of-moonacre]

Ms. Heliotrope: You're in so much trouble, young lady. Maria: You tell the truth, you get in trouble. You lie, you get in trouble. Maria: We're probably just better off not talking to each other. Ms. Heliotrope:

[toodleoorblx]

Heliotropes

Rio Vidal x Agatha Harkness Word count: 2,464

Summary: Agatha allows Nicky to go to a nearby flower patch. Only if she comes with. Who waits for them there kick starts something that Agatha never thought could be possible again. (Chapter 1 - /5) Warnings: Angst with hope A/N: Fixing up Marvels Agatha All Along episode bc Marvel sometimes sucks :(

Chapter 1: A bouquet of flowers

Agatha sits with her back pressed firmly against the damp, knotted bark of an ancient oak. The earth beneath her is soft from the morning rain, fragrant with the heady smell of wet grass and leaves that feel cold and alive against her skin. She pulls in a deep breath, savoring the air thick with rain’s echo, while her fingers tenderly stroke her son’s long, brown hair. Nicholas’s head rests on her lap, his small face upturned to the canopy of branches above, though he’s not looking at anything in particular—he’s deep in thought, his young mind a quiet mystery to her.

His small hands clutch a dandelion he plucked during one of his rambles, its yellow petals bright even in the soft light of the fading day. Agatha’s lips tighten as she watches him. Unless they’re hunting witches together, unless she can track his every step, she hates when he’s out of sight.

“Nicky,” she says softly, her voice almost swallowed by the stillness of the forest. She’s caught, as always, by the sight of him—those wide brown eyes, full of something that feels so much older than five years, the faint lines of a smile lingering on his lips, the long hair that falls over his brow. His fingers worry at the dandelion as he turns toward her, drawn by her voice.

“Yes, Mama?” he answers, his tone so innocent it tugs at her heart. Yesterday had been his birthday. Five years. Another year gifted to her, another reprieve from the silent, eternal fears that steal her sleep. She wakes some nights in a sweat, clutching at empty air, her throat hoarse from cries she can never remember. Each year she pleads silently for just one more, and each year, mercifully, he remains her own. Nicholas smiles up at her, his eyes soft, and Agatha finds herself smiling back, her fears dissolving under his gaze.

She tucks a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, her thumb brushing his cheek. “You seem especially bored today,” she murmurs.

He shrugs, shifting slightly in her lap. “I want to go to the flower patch, Mama.” His face lights up with a grin, the bright, innocent gleam in his eyes so fierce it makes her chest ache. “The colors will be even brighter after the rain. Can I, please? I promise I’ll stay there. And I won’t even complain if you must kill more witches soon,” he adds, his voice hopeful, even cheeky, as he tries to make his promise sound grand enough to earn her permission. His brown eyes gleam, wide and pleading.

Agatha sighs, torn as always between her fierce protectiveness and her inability to deny him anything when he looks at her like that. “Okay, Nicky. But I’m coming with you.”

The delight on his face is instant, a flash of pure, unfiltered joy that squeezes her heart. “Thank you, Mama!” He throws his arms around her, squeezing her in a hug that leaves her breathless, and plants a quick, sticky kiss on her cheek before scrambling up to his feet, his small figure already bouncing with excitement.

“Stay close,” she warns as she stands, brushing the damp soil from her skirts.

“Slow down, Nicky,” she calls as he begins to dart toward the trail leading to the flower patch. But he’s already laughing, sprinting ahead of her, the sound of his carefree laughter mingling with the rustle of wet leaves as he races to the field they passed only yesterday.

Nicholas stumbles into the field, and it’s as if he’s stepped into a living painting. The flowers sway gently in the lingering cool of the afternoon, each petal a wash of color made all the richer by the earlier rain. Roses unfurl in proud reds and pinks, tulips stand tall in bursts of yellow and purple, and delicate hyacinths scatter their pastel hues. His small fingers reach out, brushing over the softness of a lily. There’s a moment, like the whole world has hushed just for him, where Nicholas feels entirely entranced. He thinks of his mother, of her stern but loving face, and a warm resolve settles in him: he’ll make her a gift.

He kneels before the lilies, carefully plucking the stems with tiny, meticulous fingers, trying not to bruise the petals.

“Nicky?”

The voice, soft but unfamiliar, slices through the stillness, and Nicholas startles, dropping the lilies as he whips around. Standing before him is a woman, a stranger, yet not entirely unfamiliar. She’s tan like him, with skin that seems to soak up the golden hues of the sun, and her large brown eyes mirror his own—warm, curious, carrying an expression of knowing that unsettles him in some way he can’t place. Her dark hair tumbles freely over her shoulders, and a green cloak shrouds her, though her hood is pulled down, leaving her face visible. She smiles warmly, and for a moment, Nicholas finds himself smiling back, charmed by the dimples that appear on her cheeks.

It’s strange, though. Her smile feels so familiar, as though he’s seen it in a dream, or perhaps in a face he only vaguely remembers.

“Who are you?” he asks, tilting his head with the same curiosity mirrored in her gaze.

She doesn’t answer right away, instead watching him with a look that’s almost…wistful. Like she’s savoring the moment in silence, drinking in his presence as though she’s waited a long time to stand before him.

“Someone,” she says finally, her voice low and soft, almost a murmur. “Someone I wish you already knew.”

He frowns, little brows pulling together in confusion. “How do you know my name?” he asks, his fingers tightening around the stems of the flowers he’s gathered.

She kneels down beside him, and he notices the scent she carries—a mix of herbs and damp earth that reminds him of late nights in his mother’s arms, the gentle murmur of lullabies. “How could I not?” she replies, a strange smile playing at her lips. “You’re very special.”

Nicholas bites his lip, wary but fascinated. “Are you…are you a friend of my mama’s?”

For a brief moment, her smile falters, and her gaze drops to the lush green ground as though she’s searching for something buried in the earth. “You could say that,” she murmurs, her voice nearly a whisper. “I used to be very, very close to her. Once upon a time.”

Nicholas tilts his head, studying her face, but her expression remains unfathomable. “You’re not anymore?” he asks, his voice soft, carrying an innocence that seems to tug at something deep within her.

She lifts her eyes to meet his, and in that gaze, there’s a quiet intensity, an ache softened by love. “No,” she says simply. “But I still care for her. I still love her.”

He considers her words, his young mind wrapping around them slowly. “Mama doesn’t have many friends,” he says after a moment, his voice filled with the surety of a child who knows his mother’s world far better than he understands his own. “So…I’m glad she had you.”

Her laugh is soft, almost a sigh. She reaches out, briefly brushing her fingers against his, and her touch is light as a petal. “Thank you, Nicky,” she whispers, her voice thick with a warmth and sadness he doesn’t fully understand.

Agatha reaches the edge of the flower patch, her fingers stained with the juice of wild berries she’d found along the way, but when her eyes land on the scene before her, the berries slip from her fingers, forgotten. There, kneeling among the sea of vibrant blossoms, is Nicholas, his arms overflowing with flowers, grinning up at… her. She can’t see the woman’s face, but the shape of her is unmistakable. There’s an aura around her—dark and vast, like a void just waiting to swallow light. Agatha’s blood runs cold, and she’s frozen in place, a wave of pure dread making her limbs feel weak, her breath sharp and shallow.

“Rio,” Agatha whispers, her voice fractured. It’s like speaking a name that’s only ever lived in her nightmares, one she’s tried to bury a hundred times.

Both Rio and Nicholas turn at the sound of her voice. Nicholas beams up at her with a bright, innocent smile, his arms wrapped around the flowers he’s picked. Rio, on the other hand, looks up slowly, her face calm, yet her gaze heavy and unreadable.

“Mama! You didn’t tell me your old friend would be here,” Nicholas says with the simple enthusiasm of a child, oblivious to the heavy silence that hangs between the two women. He holds up the flowers proudly, his cheeks flushed.

Agatha cant speak. Their resemblance. Nicky is the spitting image of Rio. She hadn't seen it before, but now that they kneel side by side… It makes her want to scream and smile. Of course, she had seen similarities, personality wise, and power wise. Nicky is witty and kind, he has a passion for nature and wildlife that just cannot originate from her alone, and a few weeks ago, he resurrected a dying baby bird. All on his own. At four years old.

That day hadn't left her mind as of late. Who knows what he will be able to do by that time… Oh.

Death is inevitable, not even love can stop it.

Her chest tightens, and she feels the wet warmth of tears sliding down her cheeks. She knows, with sickening certainty, why Rio has come.

“No,” she chokes, her voice trembling as she drops to her knees. “No, no, no, please, Rio—” The words come out broken, desperate, each syllable frayed and raw. “Please… not my baby.”

Rio rises, her eyes holding Agatha’s with a sadness that’s both deep and unfathomable. Nicholas watches her from where he’s seated, his own expression shadowed by confusion. He watches his mother cry, his gaze darting between her and Rio, trying to make sense of it all.

“Our baby,” Rio says, her voice firm but soft, her gaze unwavering as she steps closer to Agatha. “He’s mine too, Agatha. Whether you choose to see it that way or not.”

Agatha can only shake her head, her heart a frantic, pounding ache against her ribcage. “Please,” she whispers, her voice hollow, breaking in her throat. “Please, Rio, give me more time… I-I’ll do anything. Just please, don’t take him.” Her head bows, forehead falling against Rio’s shoulder, her hand clutching at the fabric of her cloak as though holding on could somehow keep her whole.

Rio sighs, and after a moment’s hesitation, her hand comes to rest on Agatha’s head, her fingers sliding gently through her hair. Agatha’s breath shudders, her eyes closed, surrendering to the familiar touch that holds so much power over her.

“I want you to want me,” Rio murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. Agatha feels the wetness of a tear slipping onto her forehead as Rio’s head bows over her, though the sky is clear above them, and no rain falls from it. “But I know I can’t ask that of you. And I’m not here to take him from you.”

Agatha’s breath stutters, sharp and quick, as she lifts her head from Rio’s shoulder. Her brow knits in confusion, still thick with disbelief, and her voice trembles when she speaks. “You’re…not?” Her eyes search Rio’s face, every flicker of movement, every small line of sorrow etched into her expression. But Rio only shakes her head, a slow, quiet gesture that’s as gentle as it is heartbreaking.

“Then…why are you here?” Agatha’s voice is barely more than a whisper, each word laced with fear and hope mingling together so tightly she feels as though she might unravel.

A tear slips down Rio’s cheek, tracing a path over the skin that’s flushed with emotion she’s tried so hard to hold back. Her dark eyes, so like Nicholas’s, are wide and vulnerable, filled with the kind of pain only love can bring. “Because he’s my child too,” she says, her voice barely holding steady, thin and brittle. “I wanted to see if he looked like me, if he liked the same things as I do…if he was happy.” Her voice cracks, and she takes a shaky breath, her fingers curling around her cloak as she fights to hold her composure. “I wanted to be someone to him, even if…even if that’s not a mother.” She pauses, and the weight of her words hangs between them like the heaviest burden. “I’m not here to take him, Agatha. I’m here to see him. His time isn’t up.”

Agatha stands frozen, her heart pounding so hard she’s certain Rio must hear it. Her mouth falls open, lips quivering as her mind races, torn between disbelief and relief. Tears spill down her cheeks, her body unable to contain the flood of emotions, and she lets out a tiny, broken laugh, shaking her head in amazement. “He…he resurrected a baby bird, you know,” she says weakly, her shoulders slumping as she shrugs, grasping for anything to steady herself. “Just a few weeks ago.”

Rio’s lips curve into a soft, tender smile, the kind of smile that only someone who knows a love so deep it defies logic can give. “I know.” She looks away, almost bashful, though her pride is evident in her eyes. “I didn’t think he’d get any necromancy from me,” she murmurs, a hint of wonder and admiration in her voice.

Agatha’s smile wavers, her lips pressing together in a tremulous line as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. Her gaze softens, her blue eyes glistening with tears, her heart pounding with an overwhelming sense of connection to the woman she’d once loved, the mother of her son. “I…I didn’t think it was possible,” she says, her voice thick, shaking.

A rustle from nearby breaks their moment, and Nicholas stands up, tilting his head with the same curiosity he shares with his mother. His small face is filled with hope and innocent confusion as he watches them, his brown eyes flicking between them, searching for answers. “Are you and my mama friends again?” he asks, his voice light with the straightforwardness only a child could bring to such a moment.

Agatha freezes, her voice caught in her throat, unable to answer as a rush of emotions threatens to swallow her whole. Her eyes glisten as she looks at Nicholas, his small form so much a mirror of the two of them that her heart clenches painfully. But Rio’s expression softens as she looks at him, and she presses her lips together, struggling with her own emotions before finally answering.

“I hope so,” she whispers, a tear slipping down her cheek, though a small smile tugs at her lips.

[bedofthistles]

Isolation - Moonacre Week 2024

Maria was no longer a child. 

The day she stopped wearing white dresses was the day she had technically stopped being a child, or at least, she was no longer considered too young to not be thrown into the fray. Men stopped minding their mouths around her, cursing even as she flinched, and women dealt her sharp slaps whenever she stole biscuits from passing trays. 

She was going to be fourteen at the end of summer, and yet she was still being treated like a useless infant. 

By her father, as well as her governess. 

“Maria, have you practised your braiding?” Miss Heliotrope asked, her kind smile misplaced in Castle Black. 

“No, Ms. Heliotrope, I haven’t practised brading, or piano, or french, or needlepoint, or-”

“Ah, ah, ah! Maria dear, there is no need to go on listing your shortcomings.” Ms. Heliotrope smiled congenially. 

Ms. Heliotrope stuck out like a sore thumb in the whole damned castle, but that was because she had come from London to help bring up Maria. It had been Loveday’s idea, long ago, when Loveday’s ideas were still valued. When Loveday was still valued. Something about how Maria deserved to be brought up as a proper lady, so her chances of securing a husband in the future were more certain. 

Of course, that was before Loveday left, and Maria was their only chance. 

Unless Father decided Dulac would be a better Coeur once Father passed. It was always possible, and Father always threatened it. Then, of course, David would be next in line, as he was Dulac’s only relative, and Maria would be tossed to the side. Very much like Loveday. 

Maria waited and waited for the day that Father would turn Ms. Heliotrope away, as she was a clear reminder of Loveday and her sticky ideas, but Father had surprised them all. Ms. Heliotrope would stay, and bring Maria up not just as a proper lady, but as a proper heir. 

Well, heiress, and all Maria had to do was marry whoever Father picked for her. 

So, Maria hardly cared about whatever it was Ms. Heliotrope wanted her to do, as it didn’t matter. She didn’t have to try to fetch a husband, as so many poor girls did, Maria would be handed off. 

“Maria, may I remind you how important it is to your Father, and your people, that you learn all that you can! Why, if I had so many proud customs, I would long to learn them all as well!” Ms. Heliotrope smiled, as brilliant as the woman was, she could be quite oblivious. 

Maria only sighed, adjusted her black skirts and gazing out the window, to the forest, where she was sure the boys were running wild, free from silly lessons and governesses. 

“I know how to braid.” Maria began. “So, I have no reason to practise them over and over again. I have mastered the piano, and je n'ai plus besoin d'apprendre le Français, I know it well enough.” 

“And needlepoint?” Ms. Heliotrope smirked, as if she had caught Maria. 

“I don’t care- mm! Ms. Heliotrope, can’t I go out into the forest?” 

Ms. Heliotrope gasped, “The for-! Maria, what would your father say!” 

“But going into the forest is as much my birthright as any of it! I mean how am I supposed to guard the forest if I don’t know it?” 

Ms. Heliotrope tutted. “Maria, you are not to go into the forest.” 

Maria pursed her lips and crossed her arms, turning away from Ms. Heliotrope and looking out the 

window once more. She did not ask why not because she knew, it was the answer she had been given since the day Loveday had been scorned. Since the day her Father’s spies returned with the knowledge that Loveday had hidden in the forest. Because they did not trust Maria to stay put. Because they did not trust Maria not to run off after her sister. 

But that never mattered. 

As soon as Ms. Heliotrope left the room, Maria would jump up, claw at the ribbons lacing her in the heavy black dress and change into the leathers she had stolen from the boys. She would braid her hair to the side, tied with a black ribbon, and pull a mask around her face, covering her nose and lower mouth, an airy veil she had repurposed. She would smudge charcoal under her eyes and wrap the one scrap of blue cloth she had around her throat. She would sneak through the halls of the Castle, and into the forest, where they would never find her. Where she would be free of the isolation she felt here in the Castle. 

However, that was not what Maria had in store for today. No, she had much grander plans. 

There was word around the Castle that the Merryweathers were about to receive another. 

A young boy in London, only seven years old, had lost his one remaining parent, and would soon be sequestered to Moonacre, where he would live with Sir Benjamin Merryweather. 

He had them. She just knew he did. 

The Pearls. 

It was what they all thought. That Sir Benjamin sent the Pearls away with his brother, safe and far from where the De Noirs could get them back. Now that the man was dead, and his son was returning home, the Pearls would as well.

Maria adjusted the veil over her face. She knew she was the disappointment. She knew she was supposed to have been born a son, and that she had come out a rotting girl. She knew that Loveday had failed, not only as a De Noir but also as the Moon Princess, and now the entire future of the De Noir Clan was on Maria’s shoulders. At least if Loveday had remained, there would be some peace, some love within the Castle’s cold walls. 

The evening sun cast the Castle in a honey-warm glow, and while Maria should have waited for nightfall, she had grown impatient. 

Sneaking her way into the stables, she stole her father’s favourite horse and took off for London. 

She rode through the night, and with what little information she had, wound her way to the cemetery where his father was being laid to rest, where his mother’s tomb was. Maria followed the procession, looking for the little boy that must have been Robin Merryweather. 

However, besides the robed officials, the priests, a young man, and two grieving women veiled in black, Maria did not see a little boy. She almost wondered if they had not allowed him to attend, but as she slithered around the stones and positioned herself a good distance away underneath a columned stone structure the realisation struck her. 

She watched the young man step towards a grave marker and place a single red rose on the stone, then he stood above the freshly dug grave and threw a rose down over the coffin. She scowled, trying to figure out if their information had been wrong. He had no reason to leave flowers at graves unless- unless… 

And Maria realised they were mistaken, and had missed a number. 

The boy’s head snapped back to her, apparently her gaze was too sharp. She gasped, suddenly frozen at having been spotted, and as soon as he turned back, she spun around so her back was pressed to the column and she was once again hidden. 

Seventeen. The boy was seventeen, and coming to Moonacre, not as a little boy seeking refuge, but a man preparing himself to step into the position of Lord of Moonacre. 

He had been the first Merryweather she had ever laid eyes on. 

Her first enemy. 

Her heart pounded and she clenched her fist. 

next

[immergladsss]

Maria and The King of Thieves

For @incorrect-quotes-of-moonacre, thank you for all the work you put into the fandom and Moonacre Week every year ❤️

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 1:

Our story begins, as many typically do, with misfortune falling upon our protagonist and thrusting them into a new journey, irrespective of the protagonist’s feelings on the whole matter; for that is exactly how Maria Merryweather, just sixteen years of age and freshly debuted, found herself living neck deep in the countryside begging for work at the wash house. 

“I know your lot!” The head laundry maid, Mrs. Miller, said with a scowl. “You come around here looking for work, only to quit within the first day!” 

“Please I–”

“Just look at your hands! They’ve never seen a day of work. There’s no way you’re a commoner! Probably the bride of a failed elopement. I will not be having any trouble at my door.” 

“Please!” Maria all but fell on her knees as she implored. “Please just listen! Yes, I’ve been fortunate enough to not know work, but no! I'm not some runaway bride! I’m an orphan who was robbed before arriving with my family! Whatever fortune I once had has left me crawling for crumbs and I am paying for it threefold! I promise I will not cause trouble. I simply need work to afford the replacement of my stolen garments.” 

“Hmm…” The lady, Mrs. Miller, studied her. Maria was wearing a simple brown linen dress, faded with age. Her hair was hidden by a once-white bonnet, though a few light-red strands stuck out. Not many around here had red hair. There were a few families…one of which could get her into trouble, though the redheaded brother hadn't been seen in over two decades…  “What family are you from?”

“The Trotters.” 

Mrs. Miller looked over her shoulder and shouted at her workers. “Which of you is willing to teach her?”

Most of the girls looked away, finding they already had enough work to keep them busy, but one girl raised her hand. She was tall, with blonde hair slicked into a bun and bright blue eyes. “I can help her.” 

“Ah, Ms. Swann. Perfect. Come over here. This is Ms. Maria Trotter.” 

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Trotter. Please, call me Jane.” 

Maria’s journey began with the first of three misfortunes: her father’s unexpected passing after her debut into proper society. This unfortunate event only left her with her governess, and whatever belongings she could carry while everything else was repossessed to settle her father’s outstanding debt. A fact that brought her great shame. 

But like the highbred lady that she was, she took it with grace. She held her faith in her heart and her governess's hand for support, genuinely believing that matters would sort themselves out with time. After all, she believed herself fortunate to still have an estranged uncle generous enough to take them in. She believed their move to the countryside would simply afford them new opportunities. She believed gentlemen could be found everywhere, not just in the city, and that one day she’d find a proper suitor.  

Little did she know a second misfortune was about to befall her. Just before arriving at the gates of Moonacre Manor, they were accosted by four masked bandits, who in a matter of seconds, took all of their luggage except for the carpet bag she had carried with her inside. She wasn’t able to take a good look at them, only that they wore bowler hats, black leather garb, and darkened eyes. 

Though incredibly shaken, and feeling her resolve crack, she managed to restore her optimism at the thought that none of the bandits had managed to open their carriage. No doubt all due to her quick thinking and her handy needle that she used to slash the hand that came through her window. At least she and Ms. Heliotrope were safe and sound. 

But Maria’s silent prayers were to remain unanswered as a third misfortune came upon her. 

“I’m afraid you'll both have to find means of financing your purchases,” Her uncle, Sir Benjamin, told them during supper that night. “Unfortunately, our coffers have run dry trying to replace all that the De Noirs have stolen from us.” 

“The De Noirs?”

“Yes, I believe those were the very bandits that robbed you and your governess. Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done. Moonacre is too small and unimportant for London to care about. And Lord knows our own magistrate can barely keep order. All I can offer you is shelter and food.” 

“But I don't know how to work! I've never worked a day in my life, and I need clothes!” 

“The laundry is always in search of workers. I’m sure they’ll readily teach you, their ways. However, for your safety, you mustn’t tell anyone you're a Merryweather. With their propensity, the De Noirs are bound to kidnap you too. Present yourself as a Miller or Trotter. Those are fairly common around here.” 

And that is how she found herself the very next day, clutching a meager shilling between cracked and bleeding palms, sobbing with all her heart, outside the gates of Silverydew after her first day of work.  

Maria knew no one was meant to know her true identity. The laundry gossip informed her plenty of how dangerous the De Noirs could be, especially their leader whom they simply referred to as the king of thieves, but when Jane found her crying and handed her a freshly baked roll of bread and a small tin of salve for her hands, Maria couldn’t help herself. 

She had tried so hard to remain strong and keep up with the rest of the ladies, but it was impossible. She was weak and her entire body was in pain. She was exhausted. She was hungry. She had never felt as low as she did then. 

She tried, she really did try to maintain her resolve, but when Jane wrapped an arm around her shoulders, Maria broke and released all that she had bottled in her heart. She confessed what had transpired in her life to have driven her to such a wretched state. 

..oOo.. 

“How are you doing?” Jane asked as she came to join her at the wash bin. 

Maria was finishing her third day in the laundry house. She had learned much, but still struggled against the feelings of incompetence, the aches of her body, and her wounded pride. She sighed, “I believe I am managing. Though my arms are still threatening to desert me.” 

“It's all a con, don’t fall for it,” Jane giggled. “Do you think you could help me load this onto the carriage? The magistrate seems to be in a bit of a rush and the other girls are busy.”

“Yes, of course!” 

At the count of three, the two heaved the trunk of freshly laundered garments and carried it out into the gravel road where the carriage awaited. 

Maria glowered at the coachman who was fully aware of their efforts but refused to come down from his seat and help them. 

As they lifted the trunk to load it onto the carriage’s rack, Maria’s grip slipped, and a burr in the iron handle tore open a newly healed crack in her palm. She yelped as the trunk came crashing down. Fortunately, none of the contents spilled. 

“Careful there!” The coachman yelled, but he received no response aside from Jane’s furious glare that shut him right up.

“Goodness! Are you ok?” Jane asked, rushing to her side. 

“Yes,” Maria mumbled, wishing to hide from humiliation. She dropped her head as Jane proceeded to use her handkerchief as a wrap for her palm. “I'm so sorry. I’ll return this to you as soon as I can wash it.” 

“It happens to the best of us. Don't fret. Once, the garments I was carrying fell onto the floor and I had to wash them all over again!” 

Maria smiled sheepishly but her mind was distracted by a dash of white paint only visible on a small portion of the flat steel tyre on one of the carriage’s back wheels. “Why would someone paint their wheel?”

“What do you mean?” Jane asked, peering over Maria’s shoulder. “Strange. I don't think I’ve noticed that before. Who knows. Come now, let's get on with this.”

After that, Maria began to notice certain carriages had that same mark. She spotted it on the magistrate's carriages, on the constable’s, and on some of the farmers.

..oOo.. 

“Are you ready to leave?” Jane asked Maria, who was busy hanging someone’s night clothes to dry. They had grown quite close over the days. Jane was trustworthy, clever, and readily lent an ear without any judgment, unlike the rest of the laundry maids. The majority of them still believed her to be a runaway bride and kept a guarded distance. As though her very presence would tarnish their reputation. The only benefit to their company was the gossip. Oh, how they loved to gossip! That is how she came to learn her uncle was once engaged to a Lady Loveday De Noir. He hadn't known of her identity at the time of engagement, but he broke it off when discovered the truth, believing she was there to steal from him. 

“Don’t wait for me today,” Maria replied as she picked up another nightgown. “I need to stop by the apothecary. I've finished my salve.” 

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

Maria wasn’t eager to return home. Though she had grown fond of Wrolf, Sir Benjamin’s giant Irish wolfhound, and her pony Periwinkle, an unexpected gift from her uncle, Sir Benjamin’s never ending dour mood was a constant reminder that things just weren't right. 

But she also didn't want to return too late. The few times that she had, she had arrived to the sound of melancholic piano music and her uncle’s sobs, no doubt over his failed engagement. She was fortunate her room in one of the manor’s towers was too far to hear her uncle’s cries, though she could not help but feel pity for Ms. Heliotrope whose room was on the first floor. 

At the end of her workday, she always faced the same predicament: either she returned early in the day to find him storming about the manor and cursing the De Noirs, or late in the evening to find him sobbing by the piano and wailing for Loveday. There was no neutral ground with that man, it's no wonder his engagement failed. 

As she walked to the apothecary, Maria took a moment to appreciate the town of Silverydew. It was a quaint little town, and despite their hardships and occasional dealings with theft, the people were hardy, kind, and hopeful. Children ran about the square playing games with hoops and sticks. Mothers formed groups and shared recipes or the latest news. Men huddled around the tavern, commenting on the weather and their crops or businesses. Young ladies walked around the square, arm-in-arm, giggling over the young men who watched from a distance. Yes, Silverydew was certainly a better ambiance than the desolate and rundown manor that barely stood on its foundations, especially now that the town was preparing for the Harvest Festival. 

Perhaps if her circumstances were different, she too would be as excited as the townspeople. She had an inkling her uncle would not even consider attending, much less allow her to attend unchaperoned. Though perhaps she could convince Ms. Heliotrope–that is if she wasn't too tired from tutoring the magistrate’s children or staying up late from her uncle’s incessant mourning over his life. 

Maria sighed wistfully, wishing she could do something to help her uncle and brighten his mood. She wished to restore herself and the manor to its rightful state. However, she had yet to learn what caused the great feud between the Merryweathers and the De Noirs. It seemed no one knew, or at least would not openly talk about it. 

“Oh!” Maria cried as her face came crashing against someone’s back. She was so lost in her thoughts she failed to notice the person in front of her. She would’ve fallen to the ground were it not for the strong arms of said person. “Oh, excuse me!” she yelped, disentangling herself from his arms. “I didn’t–”

Maria froze under his gaze. Dark eyes were alight with mischief as the ghost of a smile broke into a dashing grin.  “I-I’m sorry,” she finished with a bright blush as she straightened herself and took a step back.  

“I haven’t seen you around here before.” He adjusted his coat then stuffed his right hand into his pocket and with his left, awkwardly brushed his hair back. A fruitless effort as his curls bounced right back into place and casted a sultry shadow across his handsome face.

“Oh, I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I don’t make it a habit to stay out very long.” 

“Reckon you’re not missing much then. Silverydew isn't known for its nightlife,” he teased. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”

“Trotter!” Maria chirped. “It's Maria Trotter. And your name?”

“Robin.” 

Maria didn’t miss the fact that he failed to offer her his hand which showed no sign of leaving his pocket, but she decided he had his reasons and she had more urgent matters to attend to. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Now if you’ll excuse me, I'm on my way to the apothecary before it closes for the night.” 

“What a coincidence, I am too. Allow me to join you.” 

It was not a long walk, but it allowed Maria to ask her own set of questions, “I haven’t seen you around either. Do you live outside of Silverydew?”

“Yes, I live on the outskirts of the valley. I don't make it a habit of coming into town quite often.” 

“Why is that?” Maria asked. 

Robin held open the apothecary door and gestured for her to walk in first. Then he leaned over her shoulder and whispered. “As you may have learned, these townspeople busy themselves by sticking their noses in other people’s business.” 

“You must forgive them, for what else are they to do,” Maria stiffed her giggle but continued, “There’s only so much to say about the day-to-day life here.”

Robin grinned crookedly. “Reckon I can come up with a few ideas,” he said in such a way that sent her heart racing. 

“-How can I help you?” The pharmacist asked, stepping up to the counter and startling Maria, prompting her to take a step away from Robin. 

Maria cleared her throat and tried to steady her thoughts as she said. “I’m here to purchase some salve.”

“That’ll be five shillings.”

“But…last week it was three.”

“I’m sorry dear. As summer wanes, the herbs become rare, and the price goes up.” 

Maria’s heart sank and she solemnly reached for her purse, pulling out all that she had: three shillings. A wave of embarrassment washed over her. “I'll come back tomorrow then,” she muttered. 

“Now, hang on. Keep your shillings,” Robin said.  “Charge it to my account–”

“--I can’t possibly–”

“Ms. Trotter, it's fine. If it makes you feel any better, simply pay me back whenever you can.” Then turning to the shopkeeper he said, “I’ll also need three needles, a roll of surgical silk, gauze, and antiseptic.” 

It was then Maria noticed he had taken out his right hand from his pocket. It was bandaged and blood had seeped through the fabric. “Goodness, are you ok?”

“Yes,” Robin reassured. “It's a common occurrence in my line of work.” 

Maria was appalled. Granted she didn’t know much about jobs in general, but she wondered what type of work could lead to such nasty wounds. “Well then as gratitude, please allow me to stitch you up.” 

Robin did not protest when after their purchases, Maria took him by the arm, led him outside to the nearest bench, and then motioned for him to sit. He watched with rapt attention as she expertly unwrapped his hand and wiped it clean with her own handkerchief and the antiseptic. “Goodness! When did you get this? It looks feverish!” 

Robin scratched his head as he sheepishly laughed, “It was a few days ago. My mate tried to stitch me up, but clearly, he failed spectacularly. The stitches tore today on a new job.” 

Maria tutted with a shake of her head but made no further comment as she readied the suture. Unfortunately, the silk was unruly with her gloves, and she was forced to unsheathe her hands, praying he wouldn't notice their state. Then she quickly stitched the gash across the back of his hand. She was so dexterous he hardly felt the sting of pain he was normally accustomed to. 

“Incredible,” he murmured, admiring her handiwork. “That’s quite a talent you have there. I may be needing more of your services.” 

“I’ll give my regards to my governess. After all, she's the one who taught me French Needlepoint,” Maria teased. Then she hurriedly reached for her gloves but froze when his hand gently encased hers. Her breathing hitched when he raised the back of her hand to his lips, his eyes gazing into hers. Her heart skipped a beat when he placed a soft kiss upon her bare and scabbed knuckles. 

“Thank you,” he breathed into her skin before releasing her hold. 

“Y-you’re welcome,” Maria barely managed to say. She nervously slipped her gloves back on, gathered her belongings, and stood to leave. “Have a good day Mr. Robin. And thank you for the salve.” 

She hurried out of Silverydew with a fluttering heart, entirely unaware of how intensely he studied her retreat.

Maria’s mind was occupied with thoughts of Robin her entire way home. Even the melancholic piano music that could already be heard outside the manor gates could not dampen her mood, but she wasn’t quite ready to go inside just yet. Instead, she headed to the stable to brush Periwinkle. It had quickly become her favorite pastime when she needed a place to settle her mind or heart. 

She searched all over the stables looking for her brush, but it was missing. “Digweed!” She called out. “Where is Periwinkle’s brush?” 

“It’ll be in the carriage house, apologies miss!” Digweed shouted from the garden. 

“Ahh, there you are!” Maria spotted the brush on the floor near the carriage wheel. She bent over to pick it up, then her heart dropped, the wheel also had a white streak. This development was enough to wipe her mind clear of Robin and send her into a sleepless night. 

The very next day, Maria approached Jane and asked her. “Is there a pattern to the De Noir’s robberies?”

“I’m not sure honestly. At times it does seem certain people are robbed more often, but I’ve never looked into it.” 

“Has the magistrate been a victim?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

“What about the farmer Mr. Smith?” She listed another who had a white streak on their carriage wheel.

“Yes, all the time. The poor man has lost much on his harvests.” 

“And Mr. Johnson?” Their carriages hadn’t had the white streak. 

“Now that you mention it, no. He’s one of the fortunate few who hasn't been robbed.” 

The next two days, Maria took her journal to work, and in her free time, cataloged all the carriages with the white streak. She concluded those that were painted, were the targets for robberies. 

This perplexed Maria. If her observations were correct, the De Noirs were purposefully targeting certain people. It was not random at all. This caused Maria to feel a wave of indignation. This would mean their robberies were no longer an act of survival, but of intentional harm. How dare they! 

She just knew she had to put a stop to this. That same evening, she went to the hardware shop and bought a pint of white paint and a paintbrush with all of her earnings. Then she waited. 

She waited at the outskirts of the woods until the sun had set and a crescent moon was high in the sky, and then she got to work. She went around every carriage and cart she could access and discretely marked a back wheel with the paint. 

She finished late into the night, exhausted, but proud of herself. She happily walked home and hid her paint in Periwinkle’s stall, before heading off to bed. 

It was a few days later that she was rewarded with the fruits of her labor. Rumors were circulating about, wondering if the De Noirs were beginning to soften their ways. A few times, carriages that had been stopped were released without a single item taken. That was all the confirmation Maria needed to know that the De Noirs were not acting randomly. There was a method behind their madness. They were targeting specific people, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. 

“You’re in a bright mood today,” Jane remarked. 

“Yes,” Maria said, scrubbing a stubborn stain on a coachman’s coat. “Yes, I believe I finally know what I am meant to do.” 

“Is that so?”

“Yes, but I can’t tell you just yet.”

…oOo… 

Robin wasn't one to visit Silveryday without reason. Due to its close association with the Merrwweathers, he could only ever go under disguise, and it was a massive inconvenience. 

But someone was thwarting his revenge. Which left him no choice. So, for the second time that week, he headed to Silverydew and straight to the hardware shop.

“Hello!” Robin called towards the back room. He didn't have to wait too long before a large burly and bearded man came out. 

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I need to know who’s purchased white paint in the last week or so.”

The shopkeeper was confused but told Robin all that he knew. Which unfortunately for him, wasn’t much. A customer's name wasn’t recorded unless the item was paid for in the form of credit. As a result, all he learned was that the shop had sold 10 cans of white paint, only three of which could be identifiable. 

“Thank you for your time,” Robin tossed him a coin. “I have a request though, keep note of who buys red paint.”

The only merit to visiting Silverydew was the possibility of running into the new laundry maid in town, and as luck would have it, he spotted her leaving the wash house with another maid. He frowned when he noticed that once again, she was wearing a very old dress. At one point it must have been a dark blue color, but it was now washed out to a greyish color. 

The long day had loosened her bun, and from beneath her old bonnet, curls bounced freely behind her. He watched her dry her hands on her apron, then slip on some silk gloves. 

Though she quickly learned the names of the townspeople, readily greeted them with a kind smile, and adapted to their customs, it was clear to anyone with a working brain that she was not a commoner. 

She held herself too proudly, behaved with a gracefulness that could only be taught, and spoke with words only seen in books or in sprawling cities like London. 

Even without those observations, she had admitted to having a governess and knowing French needlepoint. 

Robin followed from a distance, wondering who was to blame for the misfortune that forced her to break the softness of her hands with water and lye every day. 

When she finally parted from her friend, he snuck up to walk beside her and said, “Fancy seeing you here. It must be fate.” 

Maria nearly jumped out of her skin, then rolled her eyes in false annoyance. “Or perhaps simply the result of living in a small village.” 

“I take it you’ve lived in bigger, more crowded places?” he asked, adjusting his steps to match her pace.

 “Not a large city, but yes... Bigger than Silverydew,” she said, picking her words carefully. “How is your hand?”

“It's mended quite nicely.”

“Are you here for more sutures,” Maria said as she appraised his body, bringing about a sense of shyness he wasn't accustomed to. 

“Er- n-no,” he managed with an awkward cough. “Fortunately, no injuries today. My work has been slow recently.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Maria frowned, “So if it's not an injury, what brings you here?”

Robin smiled crookedly, “Business. Though, now that I have you here, there is something I’d like to ask. There are some interesting rumors floating about you...”

“Really?” Maria asked with amusement. “Pray tell, what is this information you've gathered.” 

“They say you’re a runaway bride. Some say you’re a witch. Others say you’re a noble who has eloped with a lowly hunter and is living in the forest. Hiding from your royal family with your husband.” 

Maria could not hold her laughter. She laughed like this was the funniest thing she’d heard since arriving at Moonacre. 

“Oh dear,” she managed in between breaths. “Please tell me where my rich family is so I can beg them to take me back! I’m weary of masquerading as a commoner!” 

“So, it’s not true then?” Robin asked. They had long exited Silverydew and were now walking down the gravel road towards the outskirts of the valley. 

“No,” Maria wheezed. “Unfortunately for me, none of that is true.” 

“And the bit about the husband–”

“--Especially the bit about the husband!” Maria cackled. “Oh, do forgive me for my uncouth behavior. I-I just can't help it. Out of all the lies!”

Robin had stopped and watched her with appreciation. “I’m relieved to hear that bit is also untrue.” 

His words sent a jolt through Maria’s body, immediately ending her fit of laughter. “A-And why would that be?”

“Well, as you know. The harvest festival is in a couple of weeks. If you’re unaccounted for, I’d love to be your escort. I heard there’s a circus coming this year. What do you say?”

“A circus! Oh, I’d love to go! But I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you just yet. You see… My guardians are incredibly overbearing, so I doubt they’ll let me go. Can I let you know next time I see you?”

“I’ll keep you to your word,” he said. Then he leaned down near her shoulder and whispered, “And if they say no, I am talented in the art of sneaking about.”

Continue Reading on AO3

@theargopriestess, @maybeamagpie, @hotpotatoburn, @stabat-mater, @bedofthistles

[dottores]

AHHHHHHHH screamed and sobbed into my pillow when I came home to read the new chapter of Heliotropes. I fought every inner demon afterwards I’m not even gonna lie to you.

I’m the commenter from ao3 of the color purple, and I saw your response to my comment and cried even harder bro. I know it’s only been four chapters (and a segment data page!), but I’m already so attached. The ending of the new chapter hand me audibly going “no nO NOOO”. Arggggg darn you, your angsty ideas, and how well you execute them.

I’m so happy that I was right about how much Dottore has influenced her, even more than we had been originally lead to believe. However all your hints of future fights has me sweating in my seat, but excited nonetheless!! It’s interesting for me to think about how sneaky Ms. Purple must have become over the years. Being a good secret keeper and staying under the radar must be hard, and she’s definitely learned a thing or two, I’m sure.

Seeing how conflicted Ms. Purple is with her family is so interesting, especially since we already know that Dottore probably wouldn’t care for her family no matter how wonderful they are. I love him, but I fear he might take advantage of her distance from them by making it worse or manipulating the situation. She cares for them, and you can’t just stop loving someone, even if they hurt you again and again. This is something I doubt Dottore would be able to understand, since emotions aren’t something he can typically rationalize.

ALSO IM SO HLAD YOU DIDNT MAKE MS. PURPLE A COOKIE CUTTER THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! I’m so happy you’ve become invested in this fic, as I can see just how much it’s helping you explore both yourself and your talents.

When I went back to reread The Color Purple again, I realized how close Delta and Iota must be to her. On top of that, Dottore had already threatened to send Theata to work with Delta. I was thinking about how funny that was, as those three would be the most problematic for Dottore if they found his (their? Technically) soulmate first.

Also I already suspected Brighella of something bad, BUT NOW IM THOROUGHLY CONVINCED HES THE SPY. Which would be so SO bad for arlecchino since she brought him in (yikes).

All of this is making me wonder about possibilities and routes. I’m curious to find out what Ms. Purple will do to earn Dottore’s respect, because even if he does care about her as she’s his soulmate, that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t really want her there. The plot thickens.

NO WORRIES ABOUT THE COMMENT BTW!! I’m surprised you even responded, it really made my day <33 Your work inspires me, and I’ll never shut up about how great you are in expressing exactly what the characters are feeling or doing without losing the audience’s focus. I’ve yet to read any of your stories and feel uninterested, even on characters I don’t particularly care for. Thank you so much for your time and efforts, I promise you me and hundreds of others are always thrilled to see that you’ve updated.

Best of luck on your future works!!

STOPPPPP YOURE THE AO3 COMMENTER ????? I LITERALLY LOVE YOU SO MUCH WHAT YOUR COMMENT STRAIGHT UP MADE ME CRY SEVERAL TIMES IT WAS THE SWEETEST THING EVER. YOURE SO BELOVED TO ME, LET ME SMOOCH YOUR FOREHEAD SOBSSSS

ok hehe rest below the cut

GDJHSDHJSJDHSH i actually wasn’t going to end the chapter with that, bc i usually like leaving it at 4 scenes BUT I HAD THE IDEA AND COULDNT LET IT SLIP BY HAHAHAHHA it would be just his luck to get THAT as his word right after all that LMAOOO and yk damn well he’s gonna take it the wrong way

🤭🤭🤭 the sneakiness and having to hide it is something else that it’s gonna be explored more in chapter 5 & 6. i just planned chapter 5 and i’m gonna start writing it friday i’m rlly excited for it, i think it’s the chapter i’m most excited for thus far.

the conflict between her and dottore when it comes to family is gonna be a BIG ONE, djsjdjjsjd i actually literally changed the whole original fic at chapter 2 to center around this conflict. without too much spoilers, i got the idea from the tik tok audio that goes “if i betray you, i betray myself. but if i betray them, i betray my country. my country is very dear to me.” “dearer than i?” “no, not dearer than you” HAHAHHAHA i’m rlly excited to get to that point too

DELTA AND IOTA WERE LITERALLY A TOWN OR TWO OVER FROM HER BEFORE SHE LEFT TO LIVE IN THE CITY. when iota finds out, he cries LMAO. if they had found her first, it would be the end of all things for dottore LMAOO he would be miserable 💀💀💀 the only thing that would’ve made it worse if gamma was there too. he hasn’t been introduced in the fic yet.

SOBS ILYSM 🥹🥹🥹🥹 that rlly might’ve been the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me i’m quite literally about to cry, i wish i could give you the biggest hug. i love asks and comments, theyve deadass been what’s pulled me out of writers block like dozens of times. i think i told you in the ao3 comment but ur comment there saved my ass like three times HAHAH. i showed my bf and i was like “if i ever start complaining about being stuck, send me this” and he DID and it worked like a charm every time LMAO. i always try to respond but sometimes it just takes me half an eternity because i’m swamped with work and drained SOBS. so i’m sorry if it ever feels like i’m not responding bc i promise i try to get to it at a decent time but i just get so overwhelmed and then i crash for a few days.

[gabysimgallery]

BNHA Nejire Hado - xXDiamond_AraXx

I was going to place the big 3 in my world when.........I DONT HAVE NEJIRE XDDDDD i had to u_U⭐

The Sims 4 Gallery (game gallery) - contains CC

All cc and poses I’ve used below the read more💗💗💗💗💗

Poses

First pic poses by @spirirock Instyle05 Classic

Second pic by @spirirock spMP3n4 (galley 2nd pose #spmp3n4)

Modeling Trait poses

- Pose Pack 04, CAS + Ingame by Ms Blue

--------------sliders------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I made a list of CC and CC sliders,  you need to download the 🙌 emoji one’s for the sim be able to turn out just like the pics!

--------------CC----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Nejire Costume Release+Extra Gift Nejire Hair without Horn by @yescyclops

- 𝐍𝐄𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐓 by Jay Bird The Nerd (eyes)

- Semi-realistic Teeth - Set 1 by @kiellessa

- U.A. High School Uniform - Full Body Outfit by @aizawasbby

- U.A. Short Sleeve Uniform by @aizawasbby

- UA Cheerleader Uniform! by @aizawasbby

- U.A Gym Uniform by @aizawasbby

- 𝐔𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐓 by Jay Bird The Nerd

- Heliotropic in LoversLab download the Helio HB 1.7.1 .zip (you just need the one at HB/Tops/[Helio] [BG] Tanktop.package, just that xd👍)

- 𝐔𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐓 by Jay Bird The Nerd (shoes)

- ShakeProductions 371 - Top by ShakeProductions

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My hero academia / Boku no Hero Academia belongs to Kōhei Horikoshi

The Sims 4 © 2023 Electronic Arts Inc.

BNHA Nejire Hado - zip file containing all mods/sliders and tray files in my MediaFire xXDiamond_AraXx  ;D

[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

Fuck it, Robin-Maria brotp hcs

(Do not tag as ship, this post is using the movie version of mid-20s!Robin and teenager!Maria and takes a more friendship/adoptive sibling type of integration to their dynamic.)

Robin is very much the enabler of chaos. Maria wants to learn how to shoot? Robin teaches her. Maria needs feathers to make darts? Robin has some. Maria wants to prank someone? He'll help as long as it's not him that's the target.

Maria is one of the first people in Robin's life to be nice to him. Yes she teases, but not nearly as much nor as cruelly as everyone else in his life. The only other person who's nice to him at first is Loveday, and their relationship is still strained from the long separation.

Robin finds random shiny things for Maria sometimes. He gets very proud when she likes them.

Maria is willing to mend anything that Robin rips while out wandering or hunting on the condition that she gets to go on the next trip with him. The only times he objects to this are when it is either physically unsafe for her or when his father would also be on the trip and Robin wishes to avoid bloodshed.

Both of them are really overprotective of each other. Robin will kill anyone who tries to hurt Maria, and Maria has no qualms about fucking up anyone who insults Robin. They're aware it's a little irrational, but losing so many of the people they loved in their childhoods, combined with the events of that particular month, has given both of them the kind of issues that in today's day and age would result in therapy.

Robin finds all of Loveday's dresses from her youth and unsubtly indicates to Maria that if she wishes to hunt and ride and do so without wearing men's clothing, she would be wise to wear the things designed for such actions, and not hoops and bonnets that tangle in everything.

Maria tries to teach Robin French. It doesn't quite pan out, but she asks Ms. Heliotrope to take over, and Robin can now boast to being an amateur bilinguist. (Maria does help him out when he gets stuck on the little things, she's just not good at explaining the entire concept of grammar).

Maria frequently wakes up with nightmares. Sometimes she'll ride to the De Noir castle just to talk to Robin about them and stays the night. Robin jokingly complains about having to give up the bed each time this happens but he's the one who chooses to stay up and guard the room until morning, so it's not really taken seriously. If there is an emergency dress and overnight kit stashed in Robin's closet for situations like this, that is nobody's business.

Robin himself suffers from what would today be called intrusive thoughts, combining with anxiety and making him think a little too often that someone (usually Loveday or Maria) is missing or hurt or dead and haunting him until he can't think of anything else. Maria helps talk him through whenever he comes to her, no matter when. She hates seeing him reduced to the paranoia and guides him through the worst of it as best she can.

Maria has convinced her best friends from back in the city to mail her sweets and candy when they can. She always saves some for Robin.

Robin gives her a tour of the best spots to climb for exploring, stalking, and ambushing in exchange.

She sews little patches of brighter colors not the inside of his jacket so he doesn't feel as alone. He works out a secret sheath that she can attach to any dress so she can always hide a weapon on her.

He ruffles her hair. She punches him in the arm. They both like hugs.

[happy-smile-flowers]

An anti-influenza virus compound, Gibberellin B

Isatis Radix, also known as the big blue heel, is the dried root of the plant woad or big blue-green, which can be used clinically for influenza, mumps, chickenpox, and measles.

The liver is the leading site of drug metabolism, and applying the liver microsomal model allows for metabolite analysis studies of drugs. Drug metabolite analysis has evolved rapidly to become an essential part of pharmacokinetic studies.

According to a study reported on the internet, it was found that based on the systematic screening of the active antiviral ingredients of radix isatidis, straight heliotropin B was the most abundant compound among the 31 compounds isolated from the aqueous extract of radix isatidis, and compound activity testing studies showed that it had significant antiviral and antioxidant activities. Therefore, the lignan compound Gibberellin B contained in Isatidis Radix no toginseng is one of the critical active substance bases of Isatidis Radix no toginseng against viruses.

Larcholin-4,4'-di-O-β-D-diglucoside was the most abundant lignan-like compound isolated from the active antiviral site of Isatidis Radix no toginseng, accounting for about 2% of the active site and 0.04% of the raw drug amount.

In vitro anti-HSV viral activity showed some inhibitory effect on HSV-1 and HSV-2 type viruses. Moreover, it has been reported in the literature that Clemastanin B has antioxidant and free radical scavenging activity, has a superoxide dismutase-like effect and has a significant protective effect on cells.

In vitro metabolism studies of nematocysts B in human liver microsomes have been carried out, providing an essential basis for the preclinical evaluation of the efficacy of this compound. Because of the chemical stability of Clemastanin B, the study can be directly used to determine the content of Clemastanin B in Isatidis Radixquinquefolium by HPLC showed that the determination of Clemastanin B content can be used as a quality control method for Isatidis Radixquinquefolium granules.

1，Study on the metabolism of straight heliotrope in B in human-derived liver microsomal incubation system

Compared with traditional liquid chromatography techniques, LC-MS/MS has the advantages of high sensitivity, high throughput, and high accuracy and is widely used in drug metabolite analysis studies. Our Pharmacokinetics Lab has passed the GLP certification by NMPA. Following the guiding principles of ICH, NMPA and FDA. The lab offers in vivo and in vitro pharmacokinetic tests according to the needs of our clients and provides them with complete sets of pharmacokinetic evaluation and optimization services.

One investigator has applied a human-derived liver microsomal incubation system to investigate the in vitro metabolism of Clemastanin B. The method involves co-incubating Clemastanin B with human liver microsomes, processing the samples by protein precipitation, and qualitative and quantitative analysis of the metabolites by LC-MS/MS. Chromatographic conditions: PhenomenexLunaC18 column (100 mm×2.0 mm, five μm); mobile phase: acetonitrile (containing 0.1% formic acid)-water (containing 0.1% formic acid), gradient elution; flow rate 400 μL-min-1; injection volume 10 μL. Mass spectrometry conditions: electrospray ionization source, negative ion mode detection.

The results revealed that straight heliotrope in B (compound 1) could be metabolized to larixenol-4-O-β-D-glucoside (compound 2) and larixenol-4′-O-β-D-glucoside (compound 3) in the human liver particulate incubation system.

Therefore, it was found that in the incubation system of human liver particles, Clemastanin B could be partially metabolized to compound 2 with more vigorous anti-influenza activity, suggesting that the anti-influenza efficacy may be exerted in vivo through both the prototype and the active metabolite, providing an essential basis for the evaluation of the effectiveness of this compound.

2，The determination of straight iron Clemastanin B content can be used as a method for quality control of Isolariciresinol

The two compounds, Clemastanin B and Isorubicin, are lignan compounds isolated in relatively large amounts from the active antiviral parts of Isatidis Radix no toginseng, and some researchers have used high-performance liquid chromatography to determine their contents, which provides a basis for the quality evaluation of Isatidis Radix no toginseng.

To establish a method for determining the content of the active antiviral components of Isatidis Radixquinquefolium granules, Gibberellin B, and Isorubicin, the researchers used high-performance liquid chromatography[2]. The results showed good linearity with peak areas in the ranges of 0.1472 μg~1.7664 μg and 0.0608 μg~0.3648 μg for Clemastanin B and idarubicin, respectively, with r of 0.9999 and 0.9991, and the average recoveries of 95.76% and 97.94% with RSD of 2.76% and 1.69%, respectively. The method is simple, sensitive, and reliable in terms of results. It can be used as a quantitative method for the quality control of Isolariciresinol by analyzing the components of straight heliotropic B and idarubicin in different batches of Isolariciresinol from other manufacturers.

Isatidis Radix no toginseng has high clinical application value and is mainly used for the treatment of viral infectious diseases and has sound preventive and therapeutic effects on influenza. In addition, it is effective in treating acute pharyngitis, chronic pharyngitis, epidemic BSE, and chickenpox. The study of the components of Isatidis Radix no toginseng that exert their medicinal effects and the analysis of the content of the active therapeutic ingredients laid the foundation for the quality of Isatidis Radix no toginseng and its modern application.

[1] In vitro metabolism study of Clemastanin B in human liver microsomes [J]. [2] Determination of Gibberellin B and Isorubicin in Isolariciresinol by HPLC [J].

[kavufics]

Anthos; Park Seonghwa

The youthful prince hid behind the large pillar, hiding from the royal guards. He’d run off again, to meet you, the florist. The wonderful person who hid behind flowers, who had the brightest smile of them all. This time, he was sure to convey his feelings to you.

He pursed his lips lightly, praying for the guards to look away. Seizing his opportunity, he rushed across the street. Hiding behind vendors he slipped into the familiar store, the sweet scent of flowers flooding his nostrils.

“Welcome! How may I help you?” He froze on the spot, unable to respond. Having been caged in the castle for most of his life, the poor man had the social skills of a bear, which was none.

“Oh uh,” he stammered, at a loss of words. You waited patiently for his response, your smile warm and welcoming. “I’m here for some flowers! Yes, flowers.” He stammered, flustered.

Your gaze softened at his nervousness. “What kind?” You giggled quietly. Your mere giggle had him swooning, hearts were visible in his eyes as he admired your beautiful face. Your eyes held all loving emotions and the sparkles of a thousand stars.

“Love,” He whispered. He gazed at you lovingly, unbeknownst that he’d indirectly confessed. You nodded quietly and got to work.

He watched you pick flowers from the different baskets, admiring you. “Red camellias symbolise powerful love, they usually mean, ‘A flame in my heart.’ White ones on the other hand, symbolise a softer form of love.”

He watched as you bit your lip, gazing into the void. “White camellias can be associated with the phrase ‘You’re adorable,’ a soft yet memorable way of complimenting someone.”

His eyes which were trained to your lips quickly darkened as lustful thoughts poured into his mind. “Sir?” Your angelic voice brought him out of his trance.

“And for the final flower, a few heliotropes to add a contrast to the colours.” You handed him the bouquet, which he accepted happily. He gently grazed the flowers against his nose, falling for their scents.

“Heliotropes symbolise eternal love and devotion.” You smiled. “Whoever receives this bouquet is very lucky.”

“I agree” He gawked at you, in awe of your existence. Anyone could identify that he’d fallen in love with you. You gave him a glance, confused as to why the man wasn’t leaving.

He realised he was staring, a little too much. “Oh, uh yes. Ms?”

“Y/n”

“Miss y/n I’ll take my leave now. Have- have a good day!” He stammered, pretending to not know your name in hopes of continuing the conversation.

He’s cute. You giggled quietly, watching his retreating back.

_________________________________________

It was dusk and you were closing your store, making sure to lock it up properly. As you ventured into the streets the crickets whistles made you smile. You had some company for the night.

You opened the familiar wooden door, surprised to find a bouquet of flowers at your doorstep. The same bouquet you gave the man, except with more flowers.

A small note lay in between the cut stems, a beautiful cursive handwriting.

Chrysanthemums for the love I couldn’t show,

Forget-me-nots for the memories to be made.

Lavenders for the grace of your smile,

And my eternal love to be yours for life.

I stared at the note confused as to who it could be. I walked into the kitchen, where my mother stood making supper for us.

“Mother? Who left the bouquet on our doorstep?”

“I am not sure, sweetheart!” Your mother yelled. The gentle clang of dishes could be heard as she scrubbed them clean. “A few soldiers had come, they said it was for you!”

“Soldiers?” You mumbled to yourself. Nonetheless, you thanked your mother for the information. You grabbed the bouquet, admiring the placement of flowers.

He’d place the flowers on different corners of the bouquet, never disrupting the placement you’d made.

A small clang could be heard as a rock was thrown against your window. A crumpled piece of paper was wrapped around the rock, the same cursive handwriting greeting you.

Your hair dances with the wind,

Your eyes bring light to the dark.

My heart beats for you my lady,

I pray, no one pulls us apart.

From the day you saved me from the wolves,

To the present when you shared your smile.

I am yet indebted to you for my life,

My love forever yours, I’ll never deny.

As you read the note, familiar memories played in your eyes. Many years back, you’d saved a boy from the wolves. You lead him to safety in a nearby treetop, comforting the boy.

You remember talking to him about your deepest dreams and fantasies, afraid that it wouldn’t come true. He supported your dream of being a florist, even when others did not.

“If you were in love, what flowers would you want to receive?” He’d asked you innocently.

“There’s many but, personally speaking, I’d like Chrysanthemums, Lavenders and forget-me-nots.”

“Why’s that?” He questioned.

“I don’t really know, but these flowers seem to comfort me like no other. If I could, I’d love to have a field of those flowers.” You chuckled. “I’d never go back home.”

You’d never see him again, but remembered his doe eyes. They reflected the sun’s rays as he glowed beneath the light.

You dropped the note from your fingers, feeling the dainty paper graze your feet. You whispered the name, you’d longed to remember.

“Seonghwa.”

[esperwatchesfilms]

The Secret of Moonacre (2008)

ESE: 100/100

50 +5 for the pretty book +10 for Tim Curry +5 for black lion -5 for reckless buggy driving +5 for Ms. Heliotrope pushing off the bandit-looking dudes +5 for Ioan Gruffudd +5 for Wrolf +10 for a gorgeous bedroom +5 for Ms. Heliotrope’s burping -10 for Maria’s uncle being so cross +5 for Periwinkle +5 for the outfits the bandit-looking dudes wear +5 for Wrolf saving Maria from the bandit-looking dudes +5 for Serena the Moonacre Rabbit -10 for Maria’s uncle not answering simple questions +5 for the Alice in Wonderland vibes +5 for Mr. Scarlet +5 for “Coeur De Noir” being an awesome freakin’ name -10 for being shitty just because Loveday is a De Noir -10 for pride and stubbornness -10 for the bickering of Loveday and Sir Benjamin -10 for trapping Wrolf -10 for killing Wrolf +10 for Robin having a brain +10 for Maria’s bravery and sacrifice +10 for unicorn +5 because Wrolf’s okay after all! +5 for Ms. Heliotrope stopping Dulac

[displayheartcode]

4, 13, 18, 24, 27 "S", 29, 37, 39, 44 for the book asks? :)

Georgia!

Is there a book that you think needs a bigger fandom??

Little Thieves by Margaret Owen! It's a delightful retelling of the fairytale The Goose Girl and it does such a good job of twisting the usual tropes! A terrible gremlin girl! An obnoxious investigator! Casual queer rep everywhere! A talking dead horse!

How many books have you read this year?

114!

Do you know anyone else that likes books??

[gestures at the guys in the publishing ms program] We enable each other.

Have you read a book that was really hyped up but you didn’t enjoy?

Rules for Vanishing by Kate Alice Marshall. I love the ambition of telling the story through a number of unreliable narrators, the mixed media approach, but I wish the world-building had been slightly tighter. The whole Ys part feel like it came out of left field.

Name a book that you own starting with (Pick a letter). Have you read it?? Did you like it?? If you haven’t read it, are you looking forwards to it.

A Spindle Splintered by Alix E Harrow! This novella rocks!

Okay, the hook of calling it Intro to Spider Verse meets Sleeping Beauty is perfect. I love the spliced Arthur Rackham illustrations because they also tell a story. I love the obvious use of intense research and the genuine nerdiness of it all.

Why must I wait for the sequel?

Have you ever bought a book because the cover was so nice?

I already have a digital copy but I had to grab a hardback of Ghost Wood Song by Erica Waters.

Is there a book that you think everyone should read??

This is a trick question! I refuse to answer it!

What book that has made you cry??

Perfectly Parvin by Olivia Abtahi. It made me laugh, it made me cry. Honestly one of the best YA contemporary novels I've read and the cover is so pretty.

Favourite book quote, go.

“Bibliotropic,” Hugh said. “Like sunflowers are heliotropic, they naturally turn towards the sun. We naturally turn towards the bookshop.”

Among Others by Jo Walton

[incorrect-quotes-of-moonacre]

Digweed: i have many hidden talents.

Ms. Heliotrope: like what?

Digweed: i wouldn't know, they're hidden.

[bandsanitizer]

favorite song to unwind to, favorite shade of purple, favorite snack, & favorite temperature? -megs 💙

hello megs!!! 💖 thank you for the ask!

favorite song to unwind to: at the moment it is mostly between 134340 by BTS and Comedown by Luke Hemmings. usually I listen to music to start doing things/focus but those songs have recently been very soothing/a bit comforting!

favorite shade of purple: heliotrope or royal purple. generally speaking, any sort of vibrant purple that isn’t too light/lavender-adjacent is within a realm of purple that I like. but also I LOVE all shades of purple bc it’s purple!

favorite snack: ice cream! or m&ms! or ice cream AND m&ms. or cookies. or cookies with m&ms inside of it! or celery!

favorite temperature: zero degrees kelvin or absolute zero but 0°K is more ~fun~ to say. cool science things depend on it I’m pretty sure and just in general the idea is intriguing of there being such an extreme despite other notions of 0°C and 0°F. which like who knows what’s important about 0°F? I don’t.

*okay wait after typing that I realized you may have not meant that so I’ll say 72°F with minimal humidity and a bit of a breeze is a very good temperature imo

[bedofthistles]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? - Moonacre Week 2024 (Taylor's Version)

If it had been up to her, the station would have been bigger. It didn’t need to be anything grand, but it could have been at least more than the shaky planks of wood held together with some rusty nails. Maria, of course, supposed the nails were rusty, as she and Miss Heliotrope clung together for dear life as the shoddy platform slanted under their weight. 

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” She asked, holding a hand against the blinding sky. All around her was nothing but flat desert and blue sky. Not so much as a mountain range to look at, or a park for which she could stroll around, she knew from the letters that this settlement - if it could be called that - would have nothing as far as department stores, restaurants, or theaters, but there wasn’t so much as a cactus. 

“Uh- uh- well-!” Ms. Heliotrope began, trying to find her words as she too stared out into the terrible nothingness, when the platform shook once more as the manservant who had been sent to escort them, threw their luggage down beside them. 

“Oh of course, ma’ams! This’ll be the stop for Moonacre! Look at the sign!” Digweed - a tolerable enough man, if one did not try to engage him in intellectual conversation - pointed to a tall, wooden pole that jutted out from the corner, it wobbled just as fiercely, and its sign swayed back and forth, illegible. However, Maria did catch a large letter ‘M’ even if the sign was still in motion, so he must have been right. 

With their luggage removed from the car, Digweed jumped from the train, and a conductor shut the door, tipping their hat to them in farewell. The train whistled, and Maria watched the bars across the wheels begin to move.

Maria couldn’t remember if she smiled at the man for his service, or if she had even managed to wave her hand but as the train left the station, Maria got her first real glimpse of Moonacre Valley. Resting in the low foothills of a gently sloping mountain range was not what Maria would call a town at all. It hardly even counted as a village, it was no bigger than a New York avenue. 

“It’s- it’s-” Ms. Heliotrope began. 

“Miniscule.” Maria said with no small amount of reproach. 

“Hush! It’s lovely.” Ms. Heliotrope made a sort of bashful laugh, as if she were embarrassed, but Digweed didn’t seem to care at all as he was bringing their bags down and into the dirt. 

Maria scrunched her nose, grateful she had held onto her carpet bag, and that it would not be joining the pile. 

“Welcome to Moonacre Valley.” 

Maria’s heart jumped, and Ms. Heliotrope gave an undignified screech as a man, dark and angry, strolled up the rickety steps of the station. Maria clung to Ms. Heliotrope until the strange man stood no more than five feet away from them, but Maria was raised with manners, with a proper British education, and she knew that no matter the situation, she was called to rise above it. 

She left Ms. Heliotrope’s side, holding out her hand to the man she knew was her Uncle. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Then he did something funny. Quite rude. Quite humiliating. 

Her Uncle, Benjamin Merryweather, mayor of the newly founded Moonacre Valley gave her hand a sharp, shrewd look, before turning his gaze to his manservant. 

“The trip went well, Digweed?”

“Oh, of course, sir! As well as a train ride all the way from New York can be!” 

“Excuse me, Uncle-” 

The man sighed, his eyes rolling upward, before he turned and addressed her. “Yes, can I help you?”

“I- I’m sorry for any inconvenience we may cause, but as a young lady of my upbringing, I hope and pray that I am able to bring you any sort of aid you could possibly need, to make the best of our new situation. And so that I can be less burdensome.” 

Benjamin Merryweather regarded her for a second, there was no shock in his eyes about how well she spoke, no gratitude at her offer, and only a slight lift in his brows at the word ‘burdensome’, as if he believed she was one. 

“There is not much future for a woman out here, though I suppose I can use a secretary. Are you able to write? Missives? Notes?”

Maria blinked, “Are you asking me about my penmanship? And- and I can’t work! I-”

He huffed through his nose, “Young lady, right now I do not need to act as a chaperone, I need to act as mayor in this town, there is no law except for what I am able to dole out! It is my sole responsibility, if you wish to be less burdensome, unencumbered, and a liability, than what I need is a secretary.” 

“Well- I-”

“Sir! The young lady did not come here to work!” Ms. Heliotrope interjected on Maria’s behalf. “She is a- a young lady! Not some poor urchin who needs to work for her living!” 

“And what are you?” He asked cooly, delivering her a cool gaze before she stuttered into silence. Then, very suddenly, he sighed and almost had a look of compassion. “Maria, what I said before is the truth, this is not London or New York, it's a new, and dangerous, world. One that, unfortunately, still needs to be conquered, it is not for the civilized.”

“But…” Maria pursed her lips. It was not entirely untrue of her to say she had no future in New York. Of course, the death of one’s last remaining parent made things difficult, but not impossible. Her father’s fortune spent, the house taken as collateral, and an eighteenth birthday at the end of summer. Her plans for the future, a future that had been guaranteed to her since birth, was shattered. Blue eyes shoot across the forefront of her mind, but she closed her own tight, and shook her head clear of the reflection. 

Legally, she could not be on her own, she needed a guardian, and for all Ms. Heliotrope’s strengths, she was little more than an overzealous nanny who had stayed on far too long. Maria could have… well- she could have married. She could have stayed in New York and lived the life she had always planned if she had married. But.. she had said no. 

Of course, it wasn’t William’s fault, it never would be, but he was ready and Maria was, decidedly, not. 

She was, decidedly, frightened. 

Not of the love Will had to offer, and he had plenty of it, but what it would mean. She was, afterall, still so young, barely a woman, and with so much life felt to live. Life, that, she could potentially find out West. And if she had any doubts, she never would have gotten on the train. The dread that filled her heart was anticipation. What did she know of what was waiting for her out here? And that same thought filled her with exhilaration. 

“Of course I will help you, Uncle.” 

“Maria!” Ms. Heliotrope gasped, mostly in shock. 

“It would be an honor and a privilege to act as your secretary.”

“There we are then,” Benjamin nodded his head. “Nothing to be done. Come along Maria, allow me to introduce you to Moonacre.” 

Benjamin brandished a hand outward to the small, dusty street that boasted but few buildings. He offered his arm, and Maria took it, leaving Ms. Heliotrope with Digweed and the bags. Benjamin helped her down the steps and then over the train tracks. 

“See there, that is the courthouse, it is where my office is, and yours will be as well… and see just there, that is a trading post, even the Indians come and trade their furs and leathers with us… and just there is a general store… and-” 

A man crashed out of a window, landing at Maria and Benjamin’s feet. He was dirty and smelled foul, his gray bread matted in several places, and despite having just flown through a glass window, he laughed, jumped back up to his feet and ran back inside where rowdy noise and piano music flooded from the newly broken window. 

“What’s that?” Maria asked, craning her neck around to see inside, there was an uproar as the man came back inside, unhurt and ready for more. While the place seemed to be crawling with more men just like the one before, it wasn’t entirely filled with miscreants. A beautiful woman waltzed around between the men in an evening gown, she was like a glistening jewel, and despite how ridiculous she looked compared to the men, she carried herself with the air of the ladies from London. As the piano played, a young girl in a golden dress danced on the stage, bright and shining like a star. 

“Nothing but a seedy, evil, devilish place that you will not step a foot inside of!” Benjamin warned huffily, but before he could pull Maria along, she was drawn into the light of a door opening in the back. 

A man walked in, unnoticed, all eyes on the dancer, and he was dangerous. Maria knew that as soon as she laid eyes on him that he was a criminal, the outlaws she had been warned about. The other men had the look of hard labor about their eyes,  good, honest work, but not this man. His eyes shifted around the bar, and he slinked around the edge, dressed as a shadow. He didn’t trust any of them, and of course, Maria knew that no one trusted him. There was a pistol at his side, and rope hanging from the other, a black bandanna around his lower face, covered in dirt and dust. But then, of course, his surveying of the room brought his eyes to the broken window, to the dirt street, to her. Maria gasped and a chill ran through her, suddenly transfixed, suddenly terrified, as if the glint in his eye had lassoed her and held her tight. 

“I am sorry sir, but this is just not that kind of establishment!” A shout rang out, breaking the spell, and before Maria had time to react, to gather her senses, the piano came to a jolting halt. 

Benjamin groaned low in his throat as he turned roughly and walked inside. 

“Maria!” Ms. Heliotrope called, struggling to catch up to them and their quick pace, Digweed the slowest of them all. 

Maria followed her Uncle inside, standing just within the doorway. 

On the stage, the dancer was standing with her hands on her hips, and a rather proud expression on her lips. A man was screaming, clutching a red hand. 

“What is the meaning of this!” Benjamin shouted, garnering the attention of the establishment. 

Maria, of course, watched her Uncle as he took charge of the situation, but her eyes could not help but slip back to the young man- criminal- outlaw she had seen through the window just in time to watch him disappear out the side door. 

“Sheriff and Mayor!” The woman called, her voice like butter, “To what do we owe the honor?”

“If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed.” 

Maria, with the eyes of everyone else on Benjamin, the Woman, or the Dancer, wove through the crowd to the side door. 

“Seen what?” 

“A physical assault by that young lady!” 

The Dancer gasped, loud and affronted, while the Woman began to hastily defend her. 

“Then you must have seen that lech reach out and grab her!” 

“I could not have possibly seen that through all these people!” 

“I was only defending myself! I have a right to defend myself! Especially from horrible, terrible, no good men who think I’m some common whore!” 

Maria pushed gently on the door, and with no look back over her shoulder, to see her Uncle and the Woman standing toe to toe, Maria stepped outside. 

But, there was no one. Maria squinted at the sight of the hills just beginning to raise up to the mountains, where on earth could he have-

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” 

Maria clutched her hammering heart after she jumped just about ten feet into the air. “Goodness, you could have given me some warning!” 

Maria turned sharply and there was the criminal leaning up against the corner of the sun bleached building. 

He had removed the bandanna from his face, and she thought to herself that was a stupid thing to do if he was in fact a criminal, then she was more likely to recognize him. 

“Apologizes.” He smiled, and then knocked on the side of the building and waved. “Better?”

Maria felt her jaw slacken before she fixed her face and crafted it into something more dignified. “Not at all, as my heart is still beating faster than a rabbit’s. Who are you?”

He laughed, “No.” 

“No?”

“No, that’s not how things are done here, or did your Uncle not give you the message?”

“How did you know-?”

The man- criminal? - pushed away from the wall and stalked towards her. “I know everything around here, it's my job.”

“Do- do you work with my Uncle?” Maria scrunched her nose, she knew that was an impossibility.

“Quite the opposite, I work against him.” 

“You stop right there and-! And don’t take another step closer to me!” Her hands curled into fists, she had been stupid to follow him out here, though once a man had tried to nick Ms. Heliotrope’s handbag, not realizing it was tied around her wrist. Ms. Heliotrope and Maria were able to beat the man with their umbrellas, however, Maria did not have an umbrella, or even a parasol, within reach. 

And he had a gun. 

Maria swallowed, as the pistol glinted in the high noon sun. How often did he use that thing? Was it empty, or had he just replenished it this morning? 

She should turn and run, but she was rather like that rabbit she had mentioned a little bit ago, and found that she had been cornered, frozen in fear. The outlaw backed her into the splintering paneled wood, one hand braced above her head, she didn’t think her fists would do her any good.

“I know what you are.” She said. 

“Oh?”

“You’re a bandit.”

He laughed and scratched his chin, “Oh sure, but I bet you’d never recognize my picture.”

Maria’s eyes flashed down to the rest of his face, a silent disagreement. 

“Of course, but all my wanted posters never show my full face.” He tugged at the mask. “Hard to bring someone in when they only have half of you.”

“Then… why?” 

“Tit for tat.” The outlaw, bandit, criminal, tugged his bandana around his face, some of the dust billowing into her eyes. “I have your name, and you have my face.” 

“You have my face and my name, that is not what I call fair.” She said, mostly without thinking. 

“You’ll find out soon enough, besides, yours isn’t the wanted face.” He winked and before Maria could make a retort, he ran off, ducking behind the building. 

“What a strange young man.” She said to herself, her hand over her thundering heart. Then, a black horse burst out from the alley and the man, whose face she had but name she did not, rode off into the foothills. 

*

“Good morning, Uncle.” Maria said, sweeping into his office, dressed in her pale pink dress, her hair carefully twisted to one side with jeweled pins. She made no mention of the fact he had left without her that morning, nor did he tell her what time he would be leaving. At seven, Maria however planned to arrive at nine am, which was the typical time offices opened in the city. 

“Maria.” He grumbled, “I’ve placed some telegrams on your desk to respond to.” 

Maria looked around herself, but saw nothing. 

“Outside, in front of the door.” Her Uncle waved her off. “And one more thing, don’t let anyone bother me.”

Maria took in his less than stellar appearance: his unshaven jaw, his lack of cravat, his waistcoat half buttoned. She did not speak on his appearance, but made a face despite herself. 

Well, the desk was tidy, at least, and perhaps being alone, she’d have freedom to do a bit more work than her Uncle would approve of. 

By five o’clock, Maria had abandoned her jacket and ran around in just her white blouse, she had removed the jewels and replaced them so her hair was up and out of her face, she had ink on her fingers, and most of the filing reorganized. As it had never been organized to begin with. 

“What have you done?” Her  Uncle half roared, half stuttered as he looked around in confoundment. 

Maria rolled her eyes, “Well, for starters there was absolutely no system in which any of your papers were organized, deeds, sales, business letters, threats, were all just thrown into the same place. Secondly, do you know how many people have come in here on this day?  Complaint after complaint, so I set up a complaint box in which they can write their complaints and you can get to them later, I’ve been compiling them in an order of which I think needs handling first, but you may be the judge of that, and-”

“That will be enough.” Benjamin cleared his throat, the anger subsided and a look of - was that awe? - settled over his features. “Let’s go home.”

*

“You have no need to worry about that young man.” 

Maria gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin as she spun away from the wall of wanted posters hung in the market. She had not been looking at the poster she assumed belonged to the young man she had seen yesterday, the Rogue Rascal. 

Before her was the Woman from the saloon, her fancy evening gown traded for a simple blue skirt, and she too was only wearing a white blouse. Though Maria had donned hers as she was going out into public, she was regretting it, every step she took. It was dreadfully hot, and it was still morning.

The Woman offered the shade of her parasol to Maria, a ratty old thing, the lace torn, and while it may have started off white, it was almost a perfect match to the dirt that surrounded them. 

“The Rogue Rascal? His picture is- different from the others.” 

The Woman nodded, hooking an arm around Maria’s “He has never been caught, so our town sheriff has never been able to snap his picture.”

“Ah.” Maria said, “You mean my Uncle-”

“Yes.” The Woman grimaced, “Mayor, sheriff, Mr. Big Britches himself.” 

Maria pursed her lips together to stop herself from smiling. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Your Uncle? I hope not-”

“No.” Maria shook her head, “The Rogue Rascal, he posed no threat to me.”

The Woman smiled, “Oh? Is that so?”

Maria nodded, “What poses the biggest threat is this infernal heat! Does it ever get better?” 

The Woman nodded, “Yes, I daresay it does, for only about three months of the year, one month in the autumn before winter sets in, and the two months in spring before Mr. Sun comes back.”

“How dreadful.” Maria muttered, but the Woman had heard, and laughed. 

“Maria.” Her Uncle’s harsh voice came from behind her. 

The two stopped, and while Maria offered her Uncle a smile, the Woman’s look was one slightly more challenging. Perhaps even condescending. “Mr. Benjamin.”

“Loveday.” Her Uncle said, the word hard and forced.  “Maria, you would be wise not to associate yourself with that woman. Her reputation is one that is muddled. Who knows what goes on in the upstairs of her saloon.”

“Mr. Merryweather.” Loveday began, sharp as glass. “I have told you time and time again that my establishment is not a whorehouse, and I would very appreciate you stop inferring that my girls’ work is not honorable.” 

“Dancing in front of men is not what I call honorable.” 

She tilted her head, “Oh, but Mr. Merryweather, haven’t you told me how fond you were of the ballet?” 

“Maria, come along.” 

Maria kept her head down, to keep her smile from being too evident, as she squeezed Loveday’s arm in gratitude and came to her Uncle’s side. “It was lovely meeting you.”

Loveday in turn winked, she turned, setting her parasol on her shoulder and disappeared into the Saturday morning market. 

“I liked her.” 

“You would.” Benjamin mumbled, rolling his eyes but making Maria laugh.

*

It was easy to sneak out, not because the house was without lock.

Benjamin had made it clear that the land they occupied was dangerous and wild, but well, Benjamin had a bad habit of drinking a tad bit too much every night. So, no matter how much noise Maria made, as long as she had nicked the keys, she could sneak out and leave no trace that she had left. 

The first night she had gone to the saloon, Maria watched the girls dance in dazzling dresses, a beautiful woman in blue sang as if she were a trained opera singer, and the woman at the piano managed to keep up with it all despite how the level of difficulty of the pieces of music escalated with each performance. The men cheered, and as long as they kept their hands to themselves, they were allowed to come back. 

The second night, Loveday had given Maria - despite her attempts at concealing herself - a drink on the house. 

The third, Maria worked up the courage to talk to one of the dancers, she was invited back the fourth night and the girl showed her all the different dresses and gowns they had to perform in.

The fifth night, Maria was asked by the girls if she would like to take the stage, and she rejected, but they continued in their lighthearted pestering. They took her answer as soon as she gave it, but they could see her resolve was breaking, and how could it not? When was the last time she had danced? 

The sixth, seventh, and eighth, she rejected, but on the ninth night, perhaps half crazed by the full moon, Maria agreed. They pulled a vibrant red dress out of the wardrobe, corseted her in, and promised she wouldn’t be alone on the stage. 

A week had passed since then, Loveday had started giving her a paycheck, and Maria allowed the exhilaration of the dance she performed to whisk her away. 

The red dress was officially hers, and none of the other girls touched it, saying it fit her too well for any of them to take it away from her. She added the black opera length gloves she had always felt were too promiscuous to wear in New York, and she stuck feathers in her hair, or glittering jewels, whichever suited her fancy. 

But that night, the crowd was different. 

Maria recognized the usual farmers, their wives, the young cattle herders, the business owners, but stuck in the back, cloaked in shadow, were four men. She had never been nervous before (alright, perhaps her first night she had taken the stage, her mind ran wild with scenarios where her Uncle bursted in and caught her red handed) but as the Rogue Rascal’s eyes locked onto her, her face and her body, she suddenly felt the pressure to do more than just dance. 

Hungry and possessive, it was not the gaze of a gentleman, but an outlaw, a crook, a man who took what he wanted. 

She lifted the hem of her skirt a little higher, revealing more than just her ankles, but the slim curve of her calves. Her eyes left his for small intervals, on the crowd and the pianist, before landing back on him. Her broad smile shrunk, not the showy grin, but something more inviting and playful. 

And perhaps she should have hung up the dress that night and never returned, but she couldn’t force herself to stay away. 

*

Maria’s first mistake was leaving her window open. 

Her second was falling asleep at her writing desk. 

Her third was thinking she’d be safe from invaders.

“Such a pretty city girl, tell me, did you expect to acclimate as well as you have?” 

Maria jolted, her hand crumbling the half written letter in her hand, her other covering her chest as she turned to the man lounging in her window. “The Rogue Rascal.”

He smirked, “You catch on quick.”

Maria stood, her curls falling over her shoulder, the loose neck of her night gown sliding across her collarbones. “What do you want?” 

“Only what I can’t have.”

Maria further fisted the paper in her hand. A letter from Will, telling her he had decided to come, that his father was allowing him to scout the area for potential business. Maria wanted to tell him no, to stay in New York, that there were no opportunities out here, but she knew that was not the reason he was coming. He would come and ask for her hand again, and then what would become of her? 

He would make her give up her secretary work, and he would hate that she was dancing, and very soon the joy and bliss she had found would be snuffed out. 

“You must want for much.” Maria said, her voice shaking. “For such a hefty price to be placed on your head.” 

“Oh yes, I’ve heard I made quite the reputation for myself.”

Maria narrowed her eyes, “You sound too proud of yourself.”

“To be the most elusive thief? The most desired; you must know what that feels like yourself.”

“I have no idea what you speak of.” 

His eyes trailed down her body, the thin chemise that she had taken to wearing over her wool nightgowns. “Red suits you, y’know, though I think I much prefer this.”

Maria blushed, stepping behind her chair to cover herself. “That’s enough, that is hardly appropriate-”

“Oh whoever said you and I were appropriate company? We both know you’re no proper lady anymore.” 

“That doesn’t mean I will allow you to treat me like a whore. If that’s what you’ve come for-”

He rose his hands up in surrender. “Well I’d never!” He put a hand over his heart, “I don’t know what kind of man you think I am, but I’m not here to let you compromise me!”

“Me compromise you?” Maria asked incredulously, her hands on her hips. “You listen-”

“No, no, no! I know you city types only want one thing, and you will not be getting that from me!”

“Then-” Maria bit her tongue, his eyes glimmered with humor. “What are you here for?” 

The Rogue Rascal held out his hand. “A night you won’t forget, more than just dancing on stage so men can oggle you.” 

“And-” Maria swallowed thickly, “And you won’t-?”

He lifted a brow, waiting for her. 

“Do anything untoward?” 

“The only untoward thing I’m doing is standing in a room unchaperoned.”

“Turn around.” Maria said. 

“So you can bash me on the head with a bed warmer? No, I think not.”

“So I can dress!” 

His eyes ran up and down her body. 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“No, I’m wanted.”

Maria couldn’t help the smile as it broke over her face. 

She rushed around her room, pulling on a walking skirt, and buttoning a blouse over her bosom, she had no time for replacing her proper undergarments, and she felt as if they didn’t matter. Her hesitation only lasted a moment. After all, what was he doing this for? But as Maria took his hand, and he led her towards the window, she saw the light of mischief in his eye. Young and wild, just as she was, not evil or vengeful, but full of a simple want. 

To have fun. 

He took her into the hills surrounding the town, she was forced to sit side saddle in front of him, but somehow she didn’t mind. She looked out across the coarse land, softer under the moonlight, untouched by men’s hands, and perfectly beautiful. A silver river coarsed its way just beyond the hills, snaking around the town, which is why they settled there as opposed to anywhere else. Bats flitted across the moon, she heard the far off howls of coyotes, and when he howled back, more and more rose to the occasion filling the night with their music. He showed her the stars and the constellations, and told her made up stories about each. Which she countered, as she knew the true stories of the stars. 

He pulled out his gun, and showed her how to use it, because there were more dangerous crooks than him out there. He lit a fire when the night air grew to be too cold, and he told her stories of his escapades. 

“Why did you kidnap me?” Maria asked, her knees pulled to her chest, a tired smile playing at her lips. 

“Kidnap you?”

“Yes, well, you snuck into my room, whisked me away-”

“But you came oh so willingly.” 

“Yes, but I never would have come of my own accord.”

“Well, I suppose- I reckon- I wanted to understand you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. How such a proper lady could fit in so well here. Belong.”

“You think I belong here?” 

He nodded, “Takes others a long time to get used to the abrasive nature of the west, but you came in, and it was like you were meant to be here.” 

“Maybe I was. The expectations of New York can be stifling.”

“And, here?” 

“Here.” Maria closed her eyes, “Here, I’m as free as the stars in the sky, and I shine as brightly as the moon above, and when I howl, someone howls back.” 

“So that Will guy-?”

The crackling of the fire met her ears, and as she leaned, something soft came to catch her. “He won’t howl back.” 

When Maria opened her eyes, the logs were ash, the sun was climbing in the sky, and a strong pair of arms were wrapped around her. 

She gasped, looking up at the face of the Rogue Rascal, softened by his dreaming, Maria reached up and pulled the black mask down. She ran the tips of her fingers over his face, careful not to wake him, but he was a light sleeper. He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. 

“Not a bad way to wake up, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

He chuckled, “I’m not mad about it.”

“We should go, I- I should go home-” 

“Too late for that, just stay with me.”

Maria sat up, his arms encircling her waist and he pulled her closer to him, until she was almost on his lap. “My Uncle will be very cross, and- and I think I’m getting rather cross with myself, and-”

“Alright, alright, don’t blow a gasket, I’ll take you back.” He reached up, pulling at the curl near her temple. “You’re as pretty as the dawn.”

She blushed, but before she could make any sort of comment, he sat up, and collected himself, helping her onto his horse, he got up behind her. 

They had to be careful about coming back into town, and Maria said she would get off and enter herself, but he disagreed. That would ruin her precious reputation, and despite where they were, they both knew that little thing still had a hold on everybody. 

What Maria had not anticipated was an ambush. 

Though, perhaps an ambush was the wrong word. 

As the Rogue Rascal stopped behind her house, just underneath her window, they heard the cocking of the shotgun. 

“You were foolish for showing your face here again.” Benjamin said, his face contorted in anger as he aimed at the Rogue Rascal’s face. 

“Uncle, please-”

“Maria, get behind me, are you alright? What did he do?” 

Maria began shaking her head, but behind her, the Rogue Rascal put his hand against her lower back and pushed. 

In a flash, Digweed came around from the other side, forcing the outlaw’s hands behind his back. 

“No! No, stop it! Let him go!” Maria protested, but her Uncle grabbed her arm, stopping her from acting. The Rogue Rascal did little to fight back, and as Benjamin threw Digweed a pair of iron handcuffs, he met Maria’s eyes. He was not afraid, but resigned, as if he knew this would happen. 

Maria was forced to be dragged away, as the Rogue Rascal was escorted to the town jail. 

Maria knew she had to do something. 

*

The hanging was set for Friday at noon, there was nothing her Uncle could do, as he was committed to keeping the law. She had asked, any chance she had, and he had asked, any chance he had, if Robin De Noir, the true name of the Rogue Rascal, had anything to her. 

“No, he did nothing.” Maria said. 

“No, there’s nothing to be done.” Benjamin said. “I am sorry, Maria.” 

He tapped her chin, and smiled, before leaving her. 

But, that only meant that Maria had to do something. Perhaps she was the only one who could do anything, but no. The image flashed across her mind, of the three other men who were in the saloon with Robin, whoever they were, surely they could help. 

Maria did not dance that night, and inside, waited in the back, looking for those men and once they came in, she swooped down upon them. 

They accused her of being the one who trapped Robin, that she had acted as bait, and before they could swear her off, she convinced them that all she wanted was to save Robin. 

“I cannot allow myself to be the reason for his death, please? There is so little time left.” 

The three men looked at each other. 

“Alright, but it’ll be our plan, missy, and you’re gonna listen and follow our orders, understand?” 

“Yes! Yes, thank you!” 

*

Maria never would have believed that she would ever be in the position she found herself in. 

The morning of the hanging, Maria donned a red and black dress, securing a veil over her eyes, and brought with her several of her belongings. Spare clothes, the red saloon dress, and her mother’s pearls, stuffed into a small bag she’d later stash in a saddle bag. 

The plan was brilliant, though it had not been hers, all that was required as a gun, and that was all too easily hidden in her skirts. 

The gallows were as lazily constructed as the train station, and creaked each time the executioner paced across them, an old ratty braid hung past the black hood. A dust-covered man brought his horse a bit too close to the gallows, and when Maria went up to tell the man it was not the best place for an animal, as he may get spooked, she tucked her belongings into its saddlebag. Another man hobbled close to Benjamin on a long, battered crutch. 

Benjamin read aloud the charges levied against Robin De Noir, the Rogue Rascal, and he was escorted out onto the platform by Digweed. A noose was tightened around his neck. His eyes met Maria’s across the sea of people, a dare. 

She could not help but smile in turn. 

The executioner turned, his hand taking hold of the lever, the cattle herder ushered his horse through the crowd, and the cripple planted both feet firmly on the floor as Maria cocked the gun in the folds of her skirt. 

In a flash, or perhaps a bang, the executioner turned, wrapping his arms around Digweed, the cattle herder slapped the rear of the horse, sending it galloping forward, and the cripple used his crutch to bar Benjamin from moving forward as Maria aimed her pistol at the hanging rope.

Maria tossed the gun, gathered her skirts in her hand and ducked under the crutch as it went up, she weaved her way through the crowd as Robin leaped from the gallows, levitating for just a moment before landing on the saddle. The horse reared, longing to go forward, but Robin didn’t allow him, as he tugged at the reins and waited for Maria to meet him. He held out his hand for her to take, and she launched herself onto the horse behind him. 

The cattle herder and the executioner did their best to part the frenzied crowd, giving them a path to escape, to the wild, to freedom. 

Maria had no intentions to become a criminal or an outlaw, and in fact her one crime would be misfiring a pistol into a crowd, but Robin had been right. She had been tame, she had been gentle, but she was made for this world. She belonged under the stars, not confined to city life. She was no crook, not the way Robin and his band of outlaws were, but she was fearsome in her own way. 

Besides, who would be afraid of little old Maria Merryweather? 

[immergladsss]

Moonacre Week 2024- Chp 1: So Long, London

Marius Merryweather looked out the carriage window and watched the city disappear with a dismal form of affection one could only describe as coming from the nostalgia of having lived in one place their entire life.

London was by no means a picturesque beauty of a city. It smelled, was rather overcrowded, and the sun hardly made its presence known. Nonetheless, it was home. It had been home for a very long time, that is until his father’s untimely death and the repossession of all that had ever made his home. He was left with nothing more than the belongings he could stuff in a carpet bag and a couple of trunks, an old book that once belonged to his father, and an estranged uncle whom he was to live with– oh, and his father’s pistol, but he doubted he’d ever need that thing. 

He looked down upon his gloved hands, then over at his governess who was busying herself with French needlepoint in a sad attempt to keep her indigestion at bay, then at the heavy tome across from him. 

It was a strange fairytale about his ancestral home. It was beautifully illustrated and spoke of some magical pearls that granted wishes. Though he didn't fancy fairytales, believing they lacked the necessary information to develop oneself, he couldn't help but wonder as he watched tree after tree pass by, what he’d wish for if he were to ever be in possession of such an item. 

Though Marius had begun his journey to Moonacre with some optimism, any hope he had for the countryside was crushed bit by bit with every ruddy pit that threw him about the carriage like some trinket in a box just gifted to a child. 

He tried his best to remain stoic.

With every jostle, he reminded himself that he had been born and raised to be a proper gentleman. 

He reminded himself he was restrained. Adaptable. Humble.

Yet none of that was enough to stop him from silently cursing his misfortune when a nasty bump caused him to smack face-first into the wall. 

“Oh, good heavens!” Ms. Heliotrope cried out as she removed the needle stuck to her finger, “These roads are certainly in an awful state.”

“I always find the state of an environment to be a reflection of those charged with its care,” he replied, rubbing his forehead. There would be a welt there the next day. “To think I would one day find myself forced to live in the countryside. And one as unmanaged as this. What could my uncle possibly be doing to keep him away from any type of maintenance?”  

“Now Marius, I’m certain Sir Benjamin is a hospitable lord.” Ms. Heliotrope held onto her hat as another ditch sent them flying.”I’m certain you’ll enjoy your stay!” 

Marius held himself back from rolling his eyes. His uncle’s lack of presence, even at his own brother’s funeral, said otherwise. But did he have a choice?

 “Moreover,” Ms. Heliotrope continued. “I hear the country balls are quite fun. Perhaps you’ll even find yourself a nice lady.” 

“I doubt I’ll find any of them tolerable enough to tempt me.” 

Next

[op-peccatori]

The Spider and the (Butter)fly | MLQC Lucien | Kinktober: October 20th

Prompts: Deep-throating || Roleplay || Object Insertion 

THE THIRST IS ALIVE! Submission number 5 for @alloveroliver​’s Kinktober celebration!!!! 

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Reader/Lucien

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3700

Warnings/tags: explicit smut and language, oral sex, deep-throating, fingering, role-play, teacher and (college) student 

a/n: I forgot they were role-playing halfway into it. also I made a moodboard!!

You stand outside the office, eyes squeezed shut and folders clutched to your chest with nervousness.

There aren’t many people in the building at this time, but it isn't completely deserted. There are students who pass you by, some flashing you sympathetic smiles and others not seeing you at all. A professor looks quite puzzled at the sight of you. 

Technically, you shouldn’t be here. But, the thought of going back home with your failure terrifies you and you have to at least try to avoid that. So you’ll stand here for the next two days if that’s what it takes, and use whatever weapon is available to you. 

With a quick glance around, you whip out a compact mirror to check on the state of your lipstick, deciding it was a good idea to forego the highlighter after all.

The echo of his footsteps reaches you before he does, and you look up at him with a sheepish smile. “Professor!” He blinks at you, giving you a quick once over, the suspicious glint in his eye immediately giving way to comprehension. . You keep your expression innocent, even as fear makes your heart dance to a terrible tune.

“Ms. ___. Still here?” he asks. His expression is neutral, but slight exasperation bleeds into heliotrope eyes. His dark hair stands out against the pale walls, his thin lips pursing at having to delay his departure for the day.

“Yes, Professor. I was uh, wondering if I could talk to you about something,” you say meekly. Your eyes remain glued to his cap-toe derbies, still a shiny black after the long day. It says a lot about the man himself. You have never seen him lose his composure, not even when a student tries their best to get under his skin - which is uncommon. Most students adore him, or as you like to put it, they're happy to linger in his web. You can't blame them.

There's an intimidating man behind the smiling eyes. Brilliant and charismatic yes, but there's an unnerving quality to him, in your opinion. Being in his presence, on your own, is intoxicating. It always leaves you on edge, feeling guilty for the filthy thoughts it brings. You glance up at him for a moment only to see him peering down at you, eyes cloudy with tiredness behind clear glass.

He nods and goes into his office, closing the door behind him. You wait for a whole minute before it opens again. 

“Come in.” You watch him take a seat behind his desk as you walk through the door. His office is always clean, his things stacked neatly and in their places. His jacket is draped on the back of his chair, leaving him in a simple white button-up, sleeves rolled up to the forearms. You’re very aware of your own carefully selected outfit, the makeup applied with painful precision, the confidence you weaved with your own tongue in anticipation of this meeting. He barely gives you a look, however, and it leaves disappointment swirling in your stomach. “Take a seat.” 

You hurry to do so, sinking down into the chair across from him, the safety of his desk between you both. The first two buttons of his shirt are popped open, and you have to put more effort into not staring at the patch of milky skin than you'd like to admit. A glimpse of his collarbones is enough to dry your mouth, and you curse yourself. 

“I’m so, so sorry, Professor. I know it’s getting late–“ He waves of your words with a careless wag of his hand, and your eyes dart to his long fingers before you exercise some of the self-control you pretend to have. 

“Yet, you’re here anyway. So, what can I do for you, Ms. ____?” He laces his fingers together and rests his chin on them. You’re struck silent by the exquisite picture he makes, for a long moment. 

“It’s about my grade,” you say weakly. He does not look surprised at all. “Professor, I’m not the first student to come talk to you about this, I know. But I really, really must ask if you can reconsider.”

“I understand, Ms. ____. However, maybe you should’ve studied harder instead of giggling during class with the captain of the basketball team. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have to be here, hmm?” He doesn’t even look at you, seemingly studying an open file in front of him. 

You sputter, a mortified blush painting your cheeks. It’s true, you usually partner with Kyle in his class. Cute, funny, charming Kyle who always tries to make you laugh and succeeds most of the time. But to think Professor Lucien has noticed it enough to point it out like this...it’s embarrassing, yet something to consider. Once you're home.

Ugh, and he’s getting snappy. Maybe it was a bad idea to try this now. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to be any easier to convince him just because the man is tired. 

“It’s just – I did work really hard on this assignment. I don’t understand how I...” 

He sighs heavily at the flustered response. “It’s not the end of the world. You still have time to make up for it.” 

“But Professor, it's still going to affect my overall–“ He snaps the file shut. 

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Just work harder next time.” The tone of finality freezes your heart. You feel lost, scrambling to think of something, anything to persuade him.  How do you convince someone like him? Unfazed, poised, formidable are the words thrown around when he's the topic of conversation. You're an average student barely passing his class. The idea comes to you in a burst of desperation, something you laughed at when Willow suggested it as a joke, something you only dare to think of in daydreams, where he usually comes to you with seductive words and clever fingers as his primary weapons. You never do resist too much even in those reveries, always too quick to drop your skirts, eager to feel him touch you where you allow no one else.

But you’ve come here with a plan; if you think back to all the times you’ve caught him looking at you, it doesn’t seem that ridiculous. You know the difference between wishful thinking and reality; there's no way you imagined the cold glare flashing on his face when he saw you giggling at Kyle's antics, his lingering stares when you wear that white sundress. Or maybe you’re just flattering and digging yourself a cold grave...but it’s worth a try. 

Your back straightens, shoulders rolling back in an effort to relieve tension.

“Nothing?” The way his brow cocks should be branded as illegal. 

“Ms. ___?” 

“There’s really nothing I can do?” you ask, voice dropping low and suggestive; you bite your lip, gazing at him beseechingly. He swallows, following the motion and you smell blood. “I'll do...anything you ask, Professor.” 

“Ms. ___.” His voice is sharp with a warning. But he hasn’t asked you to leave. His eyes grow darker, framed by inky bangs and square frames that he takes off to fold and place on his desk.

“Professor Lucien, please.” You stand up, eyes wide and all too ready. “Just-I’ll do anything, I will! Whatever you want.” 

He looks at you slack-jawed, your breath quick and anxious. You’ve crossed a line, you know that. But will it get you what you want? The question of what you really want grows more muddled with every second, distorted by the flashes of darkness slipping past his composure and your own desire.

He watches you from beneath thick lashes. “Anything, you say?” You nod with slight hesitation. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting?” 

“I do.” 

His eyes slip down to the bare skin of your thighs before he, with visible effort, shifts them back to your face. “Ms. ___, I understand that you’re desperate. It makes us do stupid things. Which is why I’ll forget this ever happened. Now, leave before I...find myself less inclined to be so kind.” His eyes close in a clear dismissal. But he doesn't look angry, he looks like a man who can barely control himself, barely restrain himself from touching something he shouldn't.

He’s going to have to let you be the judge of that.

Nodding to yourself, you don’t say a word as you walk to the door, your thoughts assembling in place like a round of Tetris that you’ve just won. You hear him sigh and lean back in his chair, thinking you've come to your senses. You don’t say a word when you turn the lock, your heart pounding in your chest, the want now outweighing the desperation. 

There’s a heavy silence in the room, punctuated by more glimpses of something wild behind his mask.

“Alright then. Come here.” Your stomach clenches at the command; his pupils are blown, his hand patting his thigh. He rolls his chair back to put some space between him and the desk as you walk over to him, this time to stand in front of him. Your knees brush his. “Sit.” 

He parts his legs so you can sit delicately on his thigh, his hand coming to rest on your waist. Neither of you looks away from the other. You feel as if you’ve walked into the spider’s web, ready to be consumed. 

“You’re a lot bolder than I thought, Ms. ___,” he murmurs, husky enough to send flashes straight to your groin. The smirk curving along his mouth is knowing, and your hand curls over his shoulder, broad and real. "I never took you for a risk-taker."

“I’m...sorry, Professor. I had to try,” you say, timid and unsure but privately turned on. You’re entranced by the effect his low chuckle has on his face, squirming slightly on your seat.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you. But he doesn’t do anything. His other hand just rests on your leg, rubbing small circles into your skin, your mind going into overdrive at the touch. “Just pleasantly surprising. Tell me...are you really that desperate for a better grade?"

You can't bring yourself to form a response.

"We could find another way. Or maybe, just this once, I could change it..." he suggests, withdrawing his touch, much to your displeasure. "You're a hard-worker, I know that."

"No! No, Professor, I...I want to. Work for it. Like this."

"I see." He looks pleased by your hidden admission.

You adjust yourself on his lap, watching him watch you. He's patient as he weaves a net of desire around you, but you don't feel trapped. He waits for you to make the first move, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering chaotically at the thought of finally touching him.

Your hand cups his cheek, thumb tracing a sharp cheekbone. It traces the slight curve of his lip, and then you lean in, breath stuttering as you press your lips to his chastely. And again and again, in light brushes - it feels like the slow rush of a sweet drug, a fog settling around your thoughts before his fingers tangle in your hair, and his tongue begins to chart the lines of your mouth. You moan and your lips part to invite him in. You taste coffee and something that is very intimately him, flicking your tongue against his with increasing enthusiasm. His arm winds tighter around your waist as he holds you to him, plundering your mouth with more greed than the pirates of legend. 

You have no thoughts to spare for grades, only for ways to make him touch you more.

"You taste so sweet, Ms. ___," he breathes, hot and damp on your lips. Your teeth graze his lower lip in response. 

He turns you around so you’re facing the desk, now sitting between his legs, his firm chest pressed to your back and buries his nose in your hair. He inhales deeply, a low sound hitting the back of his throat. Your legs are wide open, falling on either side of his, his arm around your stomach strong to keep you upright against him.

The vulnerability crawls in, at your legs spread wide like this, the Professor's body moulding itself to yours, caging you in his arms.

Professor Lucien tugs down the neckline of your top low enough to unveil your breasts, adorned with baby pink velvet that he clearly fancies if his pleased hum is any indication or the curious swipe of his finger against the soft material. He fondles a breast experimentally, just to hear you moan, and pulls it out of the cloth. A roll of your nipple has you arching into him with a whimper, your ass dragging against his crotch. You don’t miss the quick suck of his breath, the helpless buck of his erection into you before he’s back in control. 

The tiny crack in his composure thrills you, makes you want to turn around and roll your hips until you make him come in his pants, until he calls you by name and all the other sweet nicknames you've imagined him saying. You know you can. But you’re not in charge here, you remind yourself. The soft but lethal brush of his fingers on the inside of your thighs help with the reminder. 

“Tell me, Ms. ___, did you select this outfit just for me?” he asks, voice surprisingly even, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. His hand caresses the soft curve of your waist, relaxing you. His hand bunches up your skirt carefully, and you jerk in his grasp when he cups your mound. “Shh. No need to be nervous. I won’t hurt you.” His palm grinds into you and your hips buck away, but you have nowhere to go. “I asked you a question.” 

“Ah, Professor. I...I thought you might like it,” you admit with flaming cheeks. He laughs into your neck, nuzzling it gently. 

“I do. Very thoughtful of you. And convenient,” he purrs and you’re confused for a second. “So you like being a little tease, do you?”

“I-Professor-“ you whimper, struggling harder when he presses firmly on your clit, just for a second. He sighs deeply next to your ear, faux disappointment evident in his exhale. 

“Use your words, Ms ___. Do you enjoy tempting me, testing the limits of my control in every class? Tormenting me with little peeks of the temptress you keep hidden?” 

"No, no..."

"Liar," he breathes, his tone more wicked than angry. "But I'm flattered you went to such lengths just to have an excuse to do this."

As an accompaniment to the disclosure, his finger slips past velvet and slick folds at the same time his other hand covers your mouth, muffling your loud cry at the intrusion. He fingers you deftly, a long finger sliding in and out of your tight heat as you squirm and moan on his lap. “Pretty, pretty girl. You’re so wet already. How often have you thought about this?” 

He plays you like a devoted musician, a tireless conductor to the orchestra of your combined passions. It’s a delicious burn, and you want to share the sheer agony of it with him. The second he slides a finger into your mouth, intent on imitating the one down below, your lips latch onto it. You suck softly, tongue caressing and gliding, his soft groan needy and weak in your ear. Arousal thrums through you harder, the power you have over this extraordinary man making you tremble, giving you strength and ideas.

“Professor –“ you moan and he bites the lobe of your ear, another finger sliding in to torment you.

“I’ve thought about it too, you know. Bending you over my desk, taking you, tasting you, marking you.” His voice is gruff with desire and you moan incoherently as his fingers curl, rubbing your velvety walls roughly. You clutch at his wrist helplessly, tilting your neck and widening your legs to give him more access. All you can do is come apart in his arms, inch by inch, your fingers twitching with the urge to help him get you where you need to be. Once again displaying his ostensible talent for telepathy, his thumb presses down on your swollen nub. "Unraveling you."

You can just barely process his words, the pleasure coiled so tightly it's on the verge of combustion, aided by his thumb working your clit slowly, then furiously as you rock frantically into his hand. Your orgasm bursts with blinding stars behind your eyelids, your body bowing and writhing as if you can barely fit in it, before you go boneless in his arms. “Brilliant. That was beautiful, Ms. ___," he coos, fingers sliding out of you, settling your skirt back in place. Your head tilts back to lean on his shoulder and you watch him lick his fingers clean with a satisfied smile. His erection is hard against your ass, and you want to touch it, spoil him. 

“How do I taste, Professor?” you ask, your smile coy.

The answering look in his eyes is predatory. “Divine.”

Turning to face him completely, you end up straddling his thigh, and the firm pressure of muscle against your sensitive sex sends something electric climbing through your veins. It scrambles your brains for a moment and you have to pull yourself together, allowing him to place a lingering kiss on your lips.

“Professor,” you plead. He looks like...well, like someone who just spent some time with his mouth glued to yours, with messy hair and your favourite lipstick on his mouth. It’s a good look on him. “Professor, tell me what to do.”

“Are you sure?” 

"Please. I want to touch you, please you.” You palm the bulge at his crotch, delighting in the way he hisses. Your mouth quirks up before you continue. “I’ll work hard. I’ll be a good student.” 

Lucien swallows heavily. “Get on your knees.” You’re more obedient than you’ve ever been in your life, slipping off his thigh to kneel between his legs. “Unzip me.” He lifts his hips to help you out, and you’re embarrassed to feel how your mouth waters when you pull his briefs down to slip his cock out, licking your lips at the sight of the glistening tip. 

You look up at him through your lashes, your finger tracing a line down his shaft.

“I've wanted this for so long, Professor,” you whisper before giving a slow lick along his length. And it's way better than the fantasy, you think, pulling the head into your wet mouth, your tongue circling and rubbing. He groans, petting your head gently.

“Alright then. Hands behind your back.” Your eyes fly to him in surprise and he gives you a lascivious smirk. “This isn’t a reward. You’re working for something here, sweetheart. You need to work hard.” You try to nod as best as you can, clasping your hands behind your back. “Good girl. Now put that mouth to good use.” 

Each bob of your head slides his swollen cock deeper into your mouth, your tongue running up and down the stiff length. You find joy in each hiss and grunt you manage to coax out, pleasure in every praise he showers upon you. Your jaw aches but you soldier on, determined to see your unruffled professor break. He looks far from it right now, the vein on his neck popping and his muscles coiled with iron, barely holding onto the leash he keeps himself on.

“Deeper,” he rasps. You try to relax your jaw,   tensing up when his cock brushes the back of your throat. The next slide of your mouth on him is slow, trying to get used to the sensation. Your eyes water and he smiles fondly at the sight of you struggling. “Need some help, baby girl?” You whimper and he reaches over to cup the back of your head, twisting your hair around his hand. He murmurs a warning softly before he snaps his hips into your mouth and you gag, spit running down your chin as he starts fucking your mouth with swift thrusts, cursing and praising you in turns. His eyes glaze over with the force of his pleasure, the breathy sounds escaping him lewd enough to fuel a hundred wet dreams. “Good girl.   Relax your jaw. Yes-yes, just like that. I’ve spent hours thinking about fucking your pretty mouth, you know? It’s better than I ever imagined.”

The sound that leaves his lips when you cup his balls is obscene, and your scalp stings from how tightly he pulls your hair. Your tongue massages the underside of his cock, and you swallow, pulling him deeper. He gasps, a filthy curse escaping and you're going to remember it forever. “I’m – coming.” You brace yourself as he stills deep in your throat and comes in heated spurts. His thrusts get weaker as he keeps coming and you choke as you try to swallow all of it. Lucien pulls out of your mouth, nimble fingers hurriedly pumping the last of his seed out onto your lips and chin instead of inside your occupied mouth.

You’re still coughing when he hands you a glass of water, pulling you up and back onto his lap as you drink gratefully. He wipes your face clean with wet tissues, thorough and gentle, and you lean against him, drained. His fingers massage your scalp tenderly, pulling a content sigh from you.

“Hmm. I believe that’s an A+,” he declares, making you laugh and wack him on the shoulder. He kisses you gently, achingly slow, breath mingling as his face hovers close to yours. His expression is open, affectionate, his eyes soft with love and contentment. Your lips still feel raw when you kiss the underside of his jaw, curling up in the enclosure of his arms with satisfaction seeped into your bones. “Are you okay?” 

You can’t hide a smile at his concerned tone, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. He tilts his head to brush his lips at the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your temple. “Mhm. Just tired.” 

“Let’s go home, baby girl. I’ll cook.”