#{ ExM: replies }

[insurgentepress]

REPLY S.p.A.: la asamblea de accionistas aprueba los estados financieros de 2024

Facturación consolidada de 2295,9 millones de euros (2118 millones de euros en 2023);

Utilidades netas del grupo de 211,1 millones de euros (186,7 millones de euros en 2023)

Se aprobó la propuesta de distribución de dividendos de 1,15 euros por acción.

Se aprobó el plan de compra y/o cesión de acciones de tesorería.

La asamblea de accionistas general de Reply S.p.A. [EXM, STAR: REY] aprobó en el día de hoy los estados financieros del año financiero 2024, donde se confirmó la distribución de un dividendo bruto de 1,15 euros por acción.

El dividendo se pagará el 21 de mayo de 2025, y la fecha de dividendo se establece para el 19 de mayo de 2025 (fecha de registro el 20 de mayo de 2025).

Estado financiero de 2024

El Grupo Reply cerró el año financiero 2024 con una facturación consolidada de 229,.9 millones de euros, lo que representa un aumento del 8,4 % respecto de los 2118 millones de euros registrados en 2023.

Los beneficios antes de intereses, impuestos, depreciaciones y amortizaciones (EBITDA) consolidados fueron de 410,6 millones de euros, un aumento del 16,6 % respecto de los 325,1 millones de euros registrados en el año 2023.

Los beneficios antes de intereses, impuestos (EBIT), de enero a diciembre, fueron de 330,4 millones de euros, un aumento del 12,9 % respecto de los 292,7 millones de euros registrados para el año 2023.

Las utilidades netas del grupo fueron de 211,1 millones de euros. En 2023, esta cifra fue de 186,7 millones de euros.

La asamblea de accionistas también aprobó las siguientes resoluciones, de acuerdo con las propuestas formuladas por la junta directiva:

Aprobación del programa para la adquisición y/o la cesión de acciones de tesorería

La asamblea de accionistas autorizó un nuevo programa de recompra de acciones y retira el vigente, que fuera aprobado en la asamblea de accionistas del 23 de abril de 2024. El principal objetivo de este programa es la compra de acciones para implementar los planes de incentivo de acciones, transacciones dirigidas a la adquisición de inversiones en acciones, transacciones financieras extraordinarias y/o la conclusión de acuerdos con socios estratégicos.

La autorización tiene una duración de 18 meses desde la fecha de la resolución, para un máximo de 3.607.950 acciones ordinarias (equivalentes al 9,64398 % del capital accionario actual) con un valor nominal de 0,13 euros cada una para un valor nominal máximo de 469.033,5 euros, dentro del límite de compromiso financiero máximo de 550.000.000 euros.

El precio de compra no puede ser menor que el valor nominal (actualmente de 0,13 euros) ni mayor al precio de transacción oficial registrado en el mercado MTA el día anterior a la compra, más un 20 %.

Aprobación del informe de remuneraciones

La asamblea de accionistas también aprobó las secciones II del informe de remuneraciones redactado en relación con el articulo 123-ter del decreto legislativo 58/1998.

El gerente a cargo de redactar los informes financieros de la empresa, el doctor Giuseppe Veneziano, declara de acuerdo con el parágrafo 2 del artículo 154 bis del Testo Unico della Finanza, que la información contable incluida en este comunicado de prensa corresponde a los registros, los libros mayores y los registros contables de la empresa.

Reply se especializa en el diseño y la implementación de soluciones basadas en nuevos canales de comunicación y medios digitales. Reply es una red de empresas altamente especializadas que brindan apoyo a importantes grupos industriales europeos que operan en los sectores de telecomunicaciones y medios, industria y servicios, banca, seguros y administración pública, en la definición y el desarrollo de modelos comerciales compatibles con los nuevos paradigmas de IA, computación en la nube, medios digitales y la Internet de las cosas. Entre los servicios de Reply se encuentran consultoría, integración de sistemas y servicios digitales. www.reply.com

[salswisteria]

I've now seen the replies to this post and the answer as to why Jon's character design is so noticeably consistent over all despite not really having a canon design, and it is so unfortunate and genuinely sad. I think the beauty with characters who don't have a canonical design within the fandom (exm: redacted fandom, castle audios etc;), is that members of that fandom/community get to have their own interpretation of that character/s, and therefore bond with character/s on a deeper lvl and get to understand them more. I want to make it clear that have nothing against the "agreed" upon character design for Jon. I genuinely think it's pretty in character and I really like it. But for people to get bullied so bad for not fitting into such an imagery mold, is absolutely horrible. Let people get creative.

(pls correct me with context or any sort of improvement of this situation if there's anything I've misunderstood or missed. Again, I am very new to this fandom compared to everybody else and I do acknowledge that this fandom has been around for 8 years now. Thank u.)

After finishing The Magnus Archives (which I've literally just done) and freely being able to view fan works of all sorts without any fear of spoilers, I have one prevailing question. How did this whole fandom manage to agree on a considerably consistent character for Jon? With the exceptions of height, hair length, and glasses or no glasses. Cuz unless it was genuinely confirmed by one of the Rusty Quill members or something, u utterly refuse to believe u guys managed that on ur own.

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

[ubi amor, ibi dolor] part 2

Part 1 here

*

Chapter summary: When he gets to Paris, Jacques gets more than he bargained for as he learns more about the object of his obsession.

CW: strong language throughout, casual medieval misogyny, a shithead cast of characters, promiscuity all around – RC very much included

Word count: 3.7k

*

To my crown of thorns, the serpent in my breast, everything bitter and sharp, the vilest dissimulator and mother of lies,

Your eyes, my lady, are nothing like the Sun. The Sun warms and caresses, gives life and joy, while your gaze withers the most sincere garden of affections.

If silken threads adorn the heads of gentle lovers, then Medusa’s snakes spring forth from your clever head. Roses bloom in cheeks of fair maidens, their petals color the soft of their lips. No such roses I find in you, rather a wreath of thorns around the hole in your face and venom-laced spit that coats the wounds your tongue slashes.

No perfume I find on your mesmeric skin, no sweetness in your breath; only a hateful decay, the gust of a stone tomb when you whirl around me, when you stab with your oaths. When lovers speak, angels sing and brooks burble; when you talk to me, you grate my ears and burn my bones.

By now you have surmised the breadth of my recrimination.

But none do I love more, none treads in my sleep and quarters me while I wake. You are on me like the scar of a fatal wound, in me like a slow poison. You alone can undo the harm you have inflicted on me.

You are guilty for the devastation of my peace of mind and your penalty is to ensure its restoration.

I will wait for you to assume responsibility and come pay off the debt love has incurred.

Resentfully and furiously yours,

Jacques Le Gris

*

“He has balls, I like him.” – your brother said, having taken the liberty of opening the letter before delivering it to you.

“How dare you, you pile of sheep dung, that was for my eyes only!”

“Oh, stop, you stupid goose, I had to check it; it came all the way from Exmes. Who do you even know there?” – he asked, snatching the letter out of reach when you tried to take it, incensed at the mention of Exmes.

“Just some squire with no breeding. You might as well burn the letter immediately, it doesn’t interest me.” – you shrugged, nose high in the air, and he called your bluff.

“He’s certainly got your character down.” – he glanced back down, agreeing with all the negative comparisons.

“Give that here!” – you jumped at him as he ran for the hearth and he ducked out of the way.

“You have a little admirer!” – he laughed, careening out of the room and running through the hall.

“I do not!”

“What on earth does he see in you?” – he teased, stopping to let you catch up and then sprinting away again before you grabbed him.

“I’m telling father!”

“I’m tilling fithir!” – he mocked, running up the stairs two at a time, heading to your father’s solar. – “I’m telling him too, that you’re seducing squires when you’re meant to be building diplomatic relations!”

*

Jacques was surprised to get a reply. He imagined he would either be shackled and summoned before the duke for his daring and disrespect, or else he would have to keep writing for months until he ground you down.

Your brother explained that there was to be a tournament in the city, celebrating a successful military campaign and that it was also to be an unofficial pageant for the selection of a groom for his sister.

You ought to come. Give us some sport.

I am sure my sister will be most grievously roused and I look forward to every moment of it.

Who knows; fortune may favor the bold and you might even snag yourself a bride.

*

Pierre would be damned if he did not accompany his precious squire. He insisted on how Jacques needed his guile and connections in the big city, which was not entirely untrue. His eyes shone with excitement as he skipped around, inspecting his favorite, most ostentatious garbs, chattering – mostly to himself – about all the fun to be had in the big city and what an impression Jacques was sure to make. But what Pierre looked forward to the most was some time away from his momentarily rotund and perpetually disagreeable wife. Not to mention he badly needed a top up of time with his favorite squire-toy.

After that fateful bacchanal weeks ago, Jacques had neither the fortitude of heart nor the virility of loins to attend any more of Pierre’s outrageous soirees. His absence was sorely missed, with laughter diminishing and irresolute coitus increasing, an excess of wine to compensate for it resulting in flabby rods on men and dozing disinterest in women. Pierre needed Jacques back and this seemed like the only route to end his dispiritedness. Once he had had his conquest, he would get it out of his system and Pierre could rest easy.

Jacques did not care much about Pierre’s giddiness and flurry of plans for a good time, as long as he got to see you again and break any prospective suitor to pieces.

*

The trip from Alençon to Paris took ten long, excruciating, nail-biting days. As the two friends at long last approached Paris, Jacques stared out the window, a pile of chattering, nervous bones, and Pierre examined his fingers for hangnails, wanting to make sure he made a favorable impression on anyone who shook or kissed his hand. – “While we’re in Paris, we should visit Rouen. I hear they have great pugilists and put on spectacular fights, if you know where to look. And they boast even better brothels.”

Jacques just kept staring out with unfocused eyes, nervously gnawing at the inside of his cheek.

“Jacques. Are you listening to me?” – Pierre leaned in, exasperated. Talking to Jacques of late was like talking to a wall. Jacques hummed affirmatively and Pierre repeated himself.

“If I am to enter the tournament, I’ll get more than enough pugilism. And I’m staying away from brothels like Carrouges stays away from good haircuts.”

Pierre chuckled before resuming his serious talk. – “I think it most unhealthy, this abstinence. Are you sure you are not ill?”

“I am the same as the last time that we had this conversation.” – Jacques retorted, tired of having to make excuses as to what he chose to do and not do with his, admittedly glorious, penis. It was becoming rather intrusive, all this bedchamber and brothel talk, especially now that the topic was a newly sore one for him. Everything was sore lately, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glimpsing the almost complete cathedral ahead.

*

When the two troublemakers arrived, they first went to the best barber they could find to have their one-stop shop beautifying regimen. After a shave for Pierre and trim for Jacques, they submerged themselves up to their noses in baths, washing off the grime of the road and it felt heavenly. The top of Jacques’s head was like an angry little island in the middle of a steaming sea, mind only on one thing.  

Finally, he came out of the bath and dried off, putting on the clothes Pierre had chosen for him. Pure ostentation, the doublet showed off his colors – gray and red – contrasting beautifully and drawing the eye inexorably to the dramatic and flashy ornation. It was the kind of thing a king might wear to a coronation. Pierre chose to complement his handsome friend in a blue and gold frock that glistened as he moved and accentuated his blond hair.

“We look fucking good.” – Pierre wrapped a hand around Le Gris’ shoulder, grinning into the poorly cast mirror that distorted them and made them look like contortionists in the middle of an act.

“Are you sure we will be welcome at this banquet?” – Jacques wanted to confirm; Pierre had a slightly inconvenient habit of presuming hospitality wherever he set foot.

“Will we be welcome? At the duke’s banquet? The duke who is a servant of the king – who is my cousin—”

“…who is your cousin, yes, the king, that king, the only king who is currently the king of France and also your cousin, that’s the one.” – Jacques grumbled, undoing a button that made it difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

“Jacques. They will groom our horses and suck our dicks as soon as we make our entrance. Is that reassurance enough?”

Pierre turned to look at his friend, who was wiping cold sweat off his forehead and struggling to breathe.

“Will you pull yourself together? They’ll think you’ve got the plague if you show up looking pale and sick like that.” – he took Jacques’ shoulder and shook him into focus. The he pinched his cheeks in a few places, trying to put some color back into them. Jacques shook his head like a displeased horse and smoothed his doublet down. – “Oh, come the fuck on man! You only get one chance to make a first impression!”

Jacques turned an even sicklier looking shade of green at that, thinking back to that night that has haunted him ever since, when he thought he was making the woman of his dreams feral with desire. Like an absolute fool. He certainly hoped that Pierre was wrong and it was possible to amend a previously unfavorable impression.

Pierre cocked his head, wondering what the fuck got into him, but then remembered this whole histrionic mood Le Gris had been in. - “Oh. Right.” – he made an apologetic grimace and picked up Jacques’ cape.

“Are you doing this to me on purpose?” – Jacques crossed his arms and tapped a foot, waiting for an answer.

“No more than you taking a steaming shit on my stellar parties.” – Pierre waved him off and put the cape over his shoulders. Jacques puffed and rolled his eyes, adjusting the cape so it sat just right.

“Show me the swish.” – Pierre coaxed.

“I don’t want to.” – Jacques shrugged, eager to head to the duke’s palace.

“Oh, come on. You know how much everyone loves it. You can’t possibly consider not doing for the duke.”

Jacques was softening up. He knew the swish took everyone’s breath away.

“Go on. Give it a quick whirl.”

Jacques did, the fabric clapping softly and whooshing through the air, gathering at a single point at his fingertips. Pierre squealed with delight and followed his long strides out, ready to dance, drink and fuck, in whatever order the three came.

*

You were fitted into your new dress, figure-hugging and dripping with adornments. It required two people to peel it on and off, meaning it would be suitably eye-catching. The neckline plunged and left room for copious jewelry and you used every free patch of skin for the purpose. It was the kind of outfit a queen might be crowned in.

Your brother and his new wife were impressed when you came in, she piling compliments on you and he scoffing, wondering why it took all day to make you look that good. The large stones in the rings you were wearing were perfect for punching, so you gave him a good sock to the chest and he let out a cry of actual pain.

“Are we in for another dull affair or is anyone fun attending?” – you asked your sister-in-law and she wrapped her arm around yours, excited to be seeing people and showing off her new husband.

“Lord Odo is back, so everyone is sure to get an earful about the battles he’s seen recently.” – she started and you nodded, sighing.

“And not so recently if he gets enough wine in him. What about any of the Valois or the Navarres?” – you asked, hopeful that someone of actual import would be there.

“Indubitably, the Navarres are absolute whores for power and exposure, they’ll be here in droves. But you might be interested in my guests of honor.” – your brother wiggled his eyebrows fiendishly and your smile melted into a scowl. Whenever he was this happy, trouble wasn’t far behind.

“Who?” – you huffed, frowning.

“Why, Jacques Le Gris and Pierre d’Alençon, naturally!” – he clapped his hands excitedly and grabbed your free arm before you could storm off.

“I don’t want him here!”

“Then that is simply too bad.” – he retorted airily, like it was a minor inconvenience. -  “He is the only person I want there.”

“Why would you want that? Pierre is in the middle of nowhere in Alençon and he’s already allied with father. Not to mention married with so many kids one could hang off each teat on a sow. That poor woman.”

“True. He does not want for heirs.”

“And Le Gris is a worthless squire with nothing but a few coffers of gold and cheap, superficial charm that passes at small courts in the country, but is going to stick out here and humiliate you if you’re foolish enough to present him as your guest of honor.”

“You may be right, sister dearest, as you often are.” – he was unbothered, still grinning infuriatingly.

“Then why are you doing this, you thoughtless little piglet?”

“I just want to see all hell break loose.”

*

Jacques was distraught not to get alone time with you. You were constantly being swept away, either by hosting duties or friends and acquaintances, and he ended up trailing Pierre around, talking to boring men and bowing to their insipid wives or graciously accepting the duke’s invitations to come meet so and so, the fake smile pinching his cheeks.

Finally, after some liquid courage and a momentary clearing of people around you, he saw his chance and swooped in, determined to invite you to dance. You glanced at him only briefly, saying a quick prayer that he shouldn’t be stupid enough to approach you and cast your eyes around, looking for anyone who could be used to occupy your attention and time. One of the less important Valois – of Louis’ line, brother to the king – was conveniently close. Yes, he was losing his hair in that unattractive way and his breath smelled like stale eggs, but he was close and powerful, and could easily take precedence over some upstart squire who presumed to impose his company on you.

“Denis!” – you purred at him, feigning happiness to see him.

“Duchess! A sight for sore eyes!” – he turned and spread his arms, offering a hug.

Jacques arrived just in time to appear as if he was interrupting your conversation. So intent was he on looking at you that he missed the distasteful look Denis gave him.

“Sir…” – Denis  started, promoting Jacques to fill in with his name, but then quickly remembered  himself. He would know this man is he were worth knowing. And Denis was a Valois, after all, and that mattered, damn it. – “Are you a sir?” – he narrowed his eyes at the intruder when he failed to respond.

Jacques hesitated for only the briefest moment, chin defiantly high, eyes still scandalously plastered on you. – “No, my lord.”

“Then know your place.” – Denis commanded and then leaned in confidentially. – “I see some maidservants who might be in need of regaling.” – he clapped Jacques on the shoulder with a guise of friendship and spun you away from him, walking away.

Jacques observed you dance the dance that was stolen from him, with the cold, patient stare of a wolf, and toasted you when he finally caught your eye. He was satisfied to find you recoiling away from the man’s breath and not hiding your displeasure well enough.

You also observed the villain practically get swarmed by women of every ilk, from royalty to wench. Keeping a tally of faces in your head, you would have to remember to retaliate against them. Though you weren’t playing with him right now, he was still your toy, not theirs.

*

It was almost midnight when you made your escape, sneaking out to climb up the back stairs and meet an old flame, Guiscard, finally back from the crusades, and make up for lost time. As you made your way down the corridors, you gasped in surprise when you came across two sloppy lovers grinding against a stone wall.

Hips pressed into the woman to pin her against the wall, Le Gris took her lolling head into his hands and gently slapped her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” – you demanded before thinking better of it. Now your own tryst was in danger of being uncovered too. But seeing Jacques, who you knew for a fact was here to grovel at your feet, have the gall to go gown chasing in your very home was too much of an affront to keep quiet.

Jacques froze and the woman’s head simply slung over her shoulder. You recognized the drooling, almost unconscious face of Jeannette, a notorious lush. Just then, a door opened and a mousy maid popped out, slugging her mistress’ limp body inside with Jacques’  help, thanking him effusively.  

She truly couldn’t thank him enough, since her husband was sick to death of Jeannette’s profligacy, in drinking and various other wet pursuits. The maid noticed you and stared with wide, petrified eyes until you waved her off and gave permission for her sow of a mistress to sleep it off in a quiet place.

“Carry on.” – you sighed and turned your attention to Jacques, who slicked his hair back into place and readjusted his extravagant clothing, sauntering leisurely over to you. – “An apology is in order, I suppose.” – you rolled your eyes and directed them at the jewelry on your hand, rearranging it as he scorched his gaze over your face and body.

“Yes.” – he agreed and paused. – “Go ahead.” – he waved a hand in permission, leaning his torso in to better hear it.

“I just did.” – you set your jaw. The nerve.

“You said an apology was in order. You did not say you were sorry.” – he corrected and trained his face to remained still. Yet his eyes were smiling, all mischief and amusement.

You raised your chin imperiously and gave him a look to cut him off at the knees. - “I apologize for jumping to the wrong conclusion. In light of the little unpleasantness I know about you, it seemed logical.”

“Apology accepted. In the light of the haughty pride I know you to be possessed of, I could expect no better.”

Infuriating. – “You may return to the party and we will not speak of what happened here. And don’t let me catch you wandering outside of the great hall again.”

“I live to serve you.” - he agreed, giving an exaggerated bow.

You moved past his ridiculous proclamation swiftly. - “And tell no one you saw me.”

You were dashing down the corridor before he could probe you any further, leaving him to wonder what made you this secretive and keen.

*

Thieves came in many forms. Some steal coins, others information, while others still make off with flesh and maidenheads. Jacques had been all three kinds in his day, and he had learned that knowing the layout and secrets of a castle was invaluable, whether he was bent upon stealing something from it or not. When the party grew unbearably boring and you failed to return within a reasonable timeframe, Jacques coaxed a pretty little maid to accompany him and show him around. He did to her what they all liked, chased after their skirts, pinching their round buttocks and pushing them into little nooks and corners, kneading tits and sucking on necks so they could boast about a lord leaving a mark on them in the morning. She showed him some useful things, not the least of which the wing where his prey slept.

“And the next one over is my lady’s chamber.”- she whispered, breath still short from what he did her around the previous corner.

Giggles echoed and the two of them glanced around urgently, looking for a place to hide. Fabrics rustled and the noises became more pronounced, a male voice groaning happily and a female one, alternating between sighing and laughing. Lips smacked against skin and hands ran roughly over a dress, a heavy cloak swishing through the air. The scene that formed in Jacques’ head rooted him to the spot and made him whip around.

You appeared, Guiscard’s lips stuck on your neck like a barnacle on a ship, hands already undoing the front of your dress. The man looked up with only mild interest. His eyes were still glazed over and he clearly did not consider Jacques competition. Tall and broad, with dark locks falling over his face and shoulders, the man was dressed elegantly in his colors, purple and gold, and had the bearing of an experienced commander. You reached up to stroke his cheek and he chased your fingers with his nipping teeth, Jacques already forgotten. Your maid peered out from her hiding spot, worried she would be in trouble for letting someone see you with a lover. You seemed unperturbed as you smiled to yourself and unhooked a key from your belt. Guiscard too showed no shame, leaning his tall frame against the wall as you unlocked the door to your chamber and swung it open for him. With an air of obedience, he put a hand over his heart and made his way in with long strides and a hungry smirk. Your maid looked over at Jacques, wondering if he was another on your long list of conquests or if you were only taunting him. Before joining Guiscard inside, you cast a quick glance over your shoulder, at the horror-stricken Jacques, and gave him a cheeky little wave with the tips of your fingers. The man’s massive arm came out to wrap around your waist impatiently, and Jacques caught the merest shadow of your wanton smile before you yelped as he pulled you in, fast and fierce, right against his barrel chest, for more fast and fierce activity.

Jacques’ cape made an angry clap as he swung it, not bothering to wait for the hiding maid, and he descended the winding stairs in a fury, unable to remain in this circle of Hell any longer.

*  

[yandere-brother-jinyin]

" OUR Sibling. "

-Introductory

" your our sibling now! "

" hell yeah! So call me older brother!"

" No me- "

Notes;Hellooo, get it straight! This is for fun duh. Also will be color coded to avoid confusion. Also replies will be long asf- so bare with me-. The names too are color codes Jin and Yin.

My posting schedule is depends on my school schedule, or day, I usually home by 15:30-15:40 but not always back to back

Don't try to romance and this is strictly platonic, duh.

Usf anonymous names so I don't get confused lmao. (Exm: Likee anon, Jungle anon, etc) may have a hard time recognizing emoji anons tho

Please use asks to interact

[narsicen]

RULES IN REQUESTING! — 4:55 pm

all rights reserved to © narsicen. please do not repost or translate or claim my work as your own. thank you!

Rules beyond the ‘keep reading’ is to be followed, the admin/author can choose not to reply or do your request if the rules are not followed.

Rules will be updated if needed.

1. NO SMUT OR ANYTHING NSFW, (exm. 18+ scenes, more than just kissing or a make out session)

2. kiss scenes or slight make outs are fine with me.

3. i will write anything as long as the topic will not contain things too triggering, such like r*pe, or anything with traumatic experiences that may harm other readers or myself.

4. Any genre is welcomed unless the admin states so.

5. i do write member x member, and member x y/n in any gender! Though preferably to keep things gender neutral for everyone

6. please do specify what gender you’d want y/n to be, if not I would assume to make a gender neutral y/n

7. dm me about the request or! send me an ask! Preferred to send in your request through my asks.

8. please also specify the group name when requesting.

9. if i do not know the group i will have to ask you if you want to change it or something of the sort, because i stan many groups but some of them, i havent been keeping up on a lot or some ive just gotten into them so i may not do them justice and i dont want to disappoint you.

10. please do understand i may take a while to write these as i do have a life outside of tumblr and i do have other things to focus on and :) i hope you guys understand that.

11. if you have a certain trope or a feel your want me to follow with, state it! with the best you can do :D i want to be able to help you get the perfect image in your head!

12. if you want to make it at a specifi length like not to long orr not to short, you can state if you want a drabble, one shot or imagine, reaction or a serie

13. i dont think ill be able to write series on request unless,i do find the motivation to make it an extension and all but i of course must ask for permission from you.

14. i have tumblr notifs off so i will answer a little late if ever so bare with me

15. i will ask you questions to make it clear what im working on is what you really want. :]

16. follow these rules and i think you’re request will be taken into consideration (or into my WIP folder!) anywho! ill be updating this incase i do want more to warn you guys about when requestiong.

17. I do drabbles, one shots, imagines, MTLs, reactions, head canons, prompts etc.! I’m open to anything , if I do not know what you want me to do, I can always research on it.

[archived-sardonicxsouls-blog]

Erebus looked at the other, hands stopping their path to his hips as he leaned in close to whisper against their lips. "I can feel the lust rolling off you. You can stop pretending like you do not want this." He grinned as he pulled the male close.

[frosty-the-iceman]

overqualified-drummer replied to your post “Dante loves how fun Bobby is. It's like they're kindred spirits with...”

It's especially cool in the aftermath of IvX

I’m not caught up yet on IvX shenanigans, but I’m trying to get current.  At the moment I’m catching up on all the EXM I missed.

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

The Bear and the Maiden Fair - Intro

A bear there was, a bear, a bear!

All black and brown, and covered with hair.

The bear! The bear!

Oh come they said, oh come to the fair!

The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!

All black and brown, and covered with hair!

~Masterlist~

Preview 1 - Preview 2

Summary: To reestablish himself in society and align with Count Pierre, your father gives your hand in marriage to Jacques Le Gris, his favorite squire. You, knowing his reputation as a newly established rich squire with little breeding and womanizing ways, are vehemently opposed to the idea. 

CW: Jacques is a scoundrel, but that’s why we love him – get on board, medieval misogyny, NSFW at the end

Word count: ~3.3k

*

It grew quiet in the Chateau Lisieux. The darkness was thin and static, waiting for the cool rain that would come during the wee hours.

Unable to sleep, you sat in your study, book open and unread in front of you, absently playing with the flame of the candle. Matthieu knocked and came in, and you sat up, rubbing the black sooty lines off your fingers.

He wrangled with the frog in his throat to begin. - “Your father leaves for Exmes in the morning.”

You made no reply, just took your eyes back to the flickering flame.

“You know why he goes there.” – he started matter-of-factly, eager to just spit out what he came to say.

“I do not.”

His courage faltered as his rhythm was disturbed and he almost teared up from frustration. – “You pretend not to care about men’s affairs, but everyone knows who has the captaincy of Exmes.” – he accused and you felt a knot tie in your gut. – “Jacques Le Gris.” – he said the name hatefully and it felt like a slap. – “That is why you can’t sleep.”

Good God, he was right. Why would you deny the truth as it stared you in the face? What good would your playing dumb be when you were dragged to the altar like a pig for slaughter?

Matthieu knew he had your attention when the tears gathering in your eyes caught the flicker of the candle flame, shining like diamonds in the dusk of the study. He felt emboldened by that, pushed to finally say what he wanted.

“You once declined my offer of marriage.” – he began and you had to look up, flummoxed. The sudden turn and long-forgotten memory almost made you bark a laugh.

Little Matthieu Devereux, son of your father’s advisor. He had been accompanying you on a ride, to make sure your horse behaved and you did not get lost. Everyone knew you viewed him as a little brother, though he was older than you. You didn’t remember much about the specifics, except that he kissed you - clumsily, you knew it even back then. You were almost a child, but still you pitied how immature and flustered he was as he sputtered out something that resembled a confession of love and a proposal. You hardly even took it seriously, and the matter was forgotten as soon as you told Marguerite and had a good laugh about it, quickly moving onto more substantive gossip.

“What could I offer you back then?” – Matthieu carried on and brought you back into the present moment. – “It was a hard blow for me, but then as time went on, I heard how many others you have turned down. It didn’t seem so bad then…” – he mused to himself, but then shook his head and squared his shoulders, trying to look serious and manly. – “This time, you won’t have the choice to turn the offer down. Le Gris is rich, in good standing with the Count of Alençon and he is a widower, making him eligible. You know what happened to Marguerite and how she was married off to Jean de Carrouges to wash away the stain on her father’s name. It only makes sense for the nouveau riche Le Gris to establish himself further by taking you, and your distinguished name, as one of his possessions.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to speak, not even to weep. All you could think of, like a rabbit in a trap, was a desperate hope to somehow get away from your merciless situation.

“It will be so, you know it as well as I. Unless we outmaneuver them.”

“What do you propose?” - the words tumbled out, fast and pleading.

“Marriage.” – Matthieu said simply. – “My love.” – he then added timidly.

*

Your father sat with Jacques Le Gris; squire, friend to Count Pierre of Alençon, widower, womanizer, man at arms, cleric, accountant, a fox and quite possibly the Devil.

Jacques sprawled comfortably in his seat, stretching his long legs in front of him, even allowing a button on his tunic to be haphazardly open. The men shared good wine and Jacques easily drew laughter from his visitors with his easy charm and engaging tales, his earnest laughter often booming in the chamber alongside theirs.

As the conversation turned to more serious matters, the noise died down so much that the crackle of the fire seemed loud.

With a keen mind and remarkable retention of names, places and numbers, Jacques easily negotiated the acquisition of your father’s property, including dowry, lands and your person, without needing to look at lists, charters or maps.

“Under those conditions,” – he began, when he had secured everything of value your father had to his name – “I would be glad to become your son-in-law.” – he grinned, amused at his own situation and sense of humor. – “But dear papa, if your daughter is half as willful as we all  know her to be, I fear we might be in a little bit of trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“My… friend, Adam Louvel, makes it his business to stay abreast of the goings-on in Exmes, and beyond.” – Jacques began, and Louvel gave a smarmy little smile. – “If what he has learned is true, and I daresay I believe it is, we cannot tarry a moment. I have ordered our horses be readied and we must ride to Fontaine-le-Sorel immediately.”

*

Nobody objected to your visiting Fontaine-le-Sorel. After all, you had spent countless days and nights there, with the Thibouvilles, your father’s close friends, whiling away the time with Marguerite. You barely needed to announce yourself there. It would be considered an innocuous enough mistake to forget Marguerite was at her husband’s estate in Capomesnil, so you would stay the night and return in the morning. Nobody would be the wiser that you had married Devereux in a secret midnight ceremony – until it was too late, that is, and you had slipped through Le Gris’ filthy hands.

The priest was snuck in in the dead of night, as the dogs slept and servants snored, tiptoeing up the stairs into a secluded steeple where you waited with Matthieu. So nervous were you that your hands shook, and you didn’t even look at the groom. It was a crazy idea and there would be serious consequences, but anything, anything, to avoid the horror of being Jacques Le Gris’ bride.

Suddenly, shouts rang out in the distance – indistinguishable, but urgent. The heavy thunder of horse hoofs beat in the yard as the servant was ordered to open the gate, in the name of your father, and the name of Robert de Thibouville.

You did not need two guesses as to what was going on.  Someone must have discovered your plan. Either that, or brigands were coming to lay siege to the castle, and even that would be a comfort at present.

Jacques had the enormous doors of the castle opened and rode his horse inside, knocking down several sleepy servants on his way. He rode the snow white horse up the stairs until the passage became too narrow and then dismounted the obedient animal. It waited on the landing as if reading his thoughts.

“Hurry, father.” – Matthieu urged, his grip on your hand tightening.

“Matthieu Devereux, vis accípere haec mulier, hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?” – the priest asked, trying to give the words their due weight and not slur them in his haste.

“Haec femina mea est, sacerdos!” – Jacques bellowed outside the door before a cracking thud was heard, sending the door wobbling and almost falling off the hinges. Another hurl of his massive body against the door broke the lock and sent it flying open.

Jacques Le Gris stood in the ruined entrance, tall and broad like a mythical beast, his chest rising and falling fast as he caught his breath. He strode in with heavy steps and his mere presence tied the priest’s tongue.

“I do!” – Matthieu said desperately, as if there was still a chance of completing the ceremony.

“You do not.” – Jacques retorted in an airy tone, in such stark contrast to his animalistic ramming of the door just moments ago. He adjusted his long hair, moving it away from his face, dewed with sweat and adjusted his long cape before continuing, as if he had all the time in the world.

“I do hope you enjoyed your little ruse, planning a secret wedding like children playing out what they heard from novels.” – he said cordially, but his voice was expert enough to infuse some mockery into the tone, undermining Matthieu’s confidence even more. Jacques always knew how to make himself the biggest presence in the room, and particularly how to neutralize every other man. – “But I couldn’t let it go quite so far as to allow you to actually go through with it. Annulments are…” – he twirled his gloved hand in the air, mouth curled down in distaste as he searched for the right word – “Such unnecessary nuisances.”

“Father, go on.” - Matthieu ordered, and repeated the order when the man continued standing motionless.

The priest cleared his throat, gaze darting between Le Gris and Devereux.

Le Gris narrowed his eyes, a small taunting smile making his lips twitch, and waited to see what the priest would do. Midway through asking – or rather stuttering – if you would accept Matthieu as your husband, the sharp sound of a blade being unsheathed and slicing through the air made the priest back away, chocking on his spit.

“I told you before.” - Le Gris started, lifting his chin with the tip of his blade. – “That is my bride you are trying to wed to this slug.” – he sounded like a frustrated teacher, having to repeat the same instruction over and over. Matthieu seethed, wanting to cut his throat over the humiliation.

The priest stepped away until his back was pressed to the wall, silently begging for his life.

Jacques turned his attention to Matthieu. They locked eyes and Le Gris leisurely put the weapon back in its sheath, making a show of how small a threat he considered his rival. – “You had better leave, boy, before I decide to serve escargot to my hounds.” – he said more sternly before cracking a bright smile at his joke.

Matthieu did not move.

“Your Lord is on his way, he will be here soon. He will punish you less severely than I would for trying to steal his daughter—”

“I was not stea—!”

“But I am not averse to the idea of delivering your corpse to him rather than your apologies.” – Jacques said coolly and your heart dropped.

“Matthieu, please! Be reasonable! It’s over. Don’t add your tragedy to mine. Please.” – you spoke with as much passion and gravitas as you could muster. Matthieu’s male pride was deeply wounded, on many counts, this night and that was the kind of thing young men precipitously died for. You did not want his blood on your hands.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful, my sluggish friend, and take my horse to the stables? He’s ridden hard all night and needs tending to.” – Le Gris said casually, as if to a servant, and all the rage that was tempered by your words surged back into Matthieu’s head.

“Stop that!” – you spat at Le Gris and pulled Matthieu closer. – “If you have a care for me, leave now and do not make this worse.” – you told him sternly and walked with him, putting your body in between the two men as you tried to push him out the door.

“I would listen to your lady friend—”

“Enough out of you!” – you barked over your shoulder and Le Gris leaned in, taking a whiff of you as you struggled to get Matthieu out.

*

“My horse is much faster than your father’s. We rode out together and it’s been over an hour that I’ve been here.” – Le Gris mused when you were left alone. He took off his gloves with care and placed them over his knee. – “But it might be age. Or the cumulative effect of our motives. Me, riding out to save my bride from making a mistake and he, riding out to clean up a mess.” – he voice took on a philosophical edge and he smiled as he relaxed into his seat.

You stood by the window, looking out for your father. – “Be satisfied, Jacques Le Gris.” – you sighed, torn between crying and yelling. – “You have dashed our hopes. You are victorious. Can that be enough for you? Or is your triumph incomplete unless you torture me?”

“I have no wish to torture you.” – he affected an appalled tone, leaning forward. – “I am a gentle, easy-going man, my somber maiden. You can ask anyone—“

“I’ve heard all about your reputation.” – you cut in, fast and bitter.

“That pleases me.” – he took the insult as a compliment and inclined his head, a perversion of an innocent expression on his face.

“It shouldn’t.” – you remained unchanged in your disgusted tone.

“Tales grow in the retelling.” -  he shrugged helplessly, thinking of how his exploits must have been aggrandized and made into legend. – “No need to be afraid of me.” – he said more soothingly.

“I’m not. There’s a difference between being afraid and disgusted.”

Jacques wrested down a knowing smile. Yes, yes, disgusting, awful, sacrilegious – he had heard those things hurled at him plenty of times in angry tones, and then repeated in wet pants into his ear as he did things to women their husbands couldn’t even dream of asking for. – “I can give you plenty more to be disgusted about.”

Finally, the tone was what you were expecting all along. Low and seedy, a seduction and a threat, meant to set your heart racing and maidenhead quivering.

“Things to confess to your priest as you weep and beg for forgiveness, all the while plotting how to get more—“ – he recited, almost bored with the female hypocrisy and the many, many times he had conquered their pride, propriety and willpower.

“Stop that!” – you slammed your hands on the wall, trying not to cover your ears and drown him out with a scream.

In that moment, Adam Louvel rode into the courtyard and announced your father, a little way behind him.

*

“You need to learn to pick your conspirators better; these were far too easily swindled out of their information.” – Louvel mocked as Matthieu stood in the middle of the echoing great hall, and Le Gris and your father passed judgment while Robert and Madame de Thibouville, roused from their beds to tend to this scandalous affair sat in silent support of your father.

Your father glared at his advisor’s son like he wanted to crush him under a rock.

“A bear doesn’t shit in the woods without Louvel finding out.” – Jacques nudged him to break the tension, offering a barking laugh and coaxing your father into breaking the furious eyes contact with Devereux and nodding.

“Ugh.” – you rolled your eyes at his nasty choice of words and Louvel dared wink at you, like you were some peasant in the streets.

“Le Gris has been understanding, and has shown great sympathy to you.” – your father boomed at Matthieu, who was looking at the floor in an effort not to let his defiance show. He couldn’t help looking up at Le Gris, who was grinning like the favorite son while the bastard was getting excoriated. Le Gris wiggled his brows at him and put on a serious expression as your father continued.

“You will be removed from Lisieux and my service.” – your father added curtly.

“No!” – Matthieu pleaded, stepping closer.

“Hush!” – your father ordered angrily. – “How dare you protest! You are avoiding much more severe punishment.” – he warned, getting heated, and had to take a moment to regain some composure. Le Gris put a comforting hand over his forearm and whispered something no doubt poisonous that had Matthieu straining, wanting to leap at him and fight. – “And take good care not to let the shameful events of this night become a matter of public knowledge. Or you will be punished more severely than you can imagine.”

“Now, now.” – Jacques soothed, playing nice. – “No need to be too harsh. Nothing irreparable happened. It’s the folly of youth, after all.” – he said to your father in his most magnanimous tone and got up to approach Matthieu. – “I can tell Devereux is a good man.” – Jacques clapped his shoulder like a friend, squeezing it when Matthieu tried to shrug it off. – “Besides, who could honestly blame him with such powerful temptation under his nose?”

As Matthieu fumed and Louvel grinned, your father was giving you an angry lecture about what you had done and Jacques grew bored, his attention moving away and landing on one of the servants by the door, ready to help and serve Thibouville’s guests if they required anything.

Judging by her bold eyes and the tightening in Jacques’ gut, there might be a service she could render him after all.

*

When you had adjourned, each person was escorted to their separate bed chambers, Jacques making sure to be left with the young servant girl that was making eyes at him. She had the same idea.

When she showed him to his room, she wished him a good night, eyes locking with his in a searing gaze. Jacques grabbed at her skirt, but she stepped just out of reach. She had learned well the combination of an affronted expression, but inviting eyes, asking him to keep going.

“If you run, I will only chase you.” -  Jacques murmured and her body shuddered, and was trapped.

Before he knew it, she was in his room, on her knees and removing his belt and trousers.

His cock curved up, no need of assistance, and she raked fingers over the flat of his belly, taking him into her mouth. She slowly grew accustomed to his girth and length, taking more in and sucking on the head. Jacques took her face in his hand and looked her in the eyes as she slid back on forth on him, moaning and vibrating through his shaft.

She was good, no scrape of teeth, took him deep, sucked him hard and well. She pushed the shaft flat against his belly and took his testicles in her mouth, rolling them on her tongue one by one and sucking on the sensitive skin. He fisted the hair on the crown of her head and held her in place as he dunked both in and let her tongue work. He felt everything growing tense and tight.

She rubbed the underside on his cock on her lolling tongue, face a mess of spit and precum, sticking and oozing. He pushed himself in, feeling his release coming, and his buttocks clenched hard as he pumped fast and deep inside her mouth, touching the softness in the back of her throat. He discharged right down the esophagus, moaning and whimpering as he caught his breath, head tossed back. The high of orgasm made him giddy and some soft laughter poured from his chest. She rolled her tongue around the tip as he came down from his high. When he was done with her attentions, Jacques snatched his cock away, like a selfish child with a favorite toy, and stuffed it back inside his trousers.

“Lovely. Now get out; it’s late and I have to rest up for my loving bride.” – he winked as he gave her sticky cheek a few affectionate pats.

She snorted as she stood up, rubbing her aching knees. – “Loving bride? She hates you, she was staring daggers at you all night.”

Jacques took her by the arm and led her towards the door, calmly, but decisively. – “You would not understand the kind of love we’re destined for. But I appreciate your skill and company.” – he said in a resolutely business-like tone and produced a coin for her trouble and her silence.

*

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[archived-sardonicxsouls-blog]

@superboysrps sent me a meme but tumblr is trash and it disappeared.

Erebus sensed the male in the home before he heard him, annoyance filling him due to the fact that they didn’t truly fix their last argument. The god’s physical body was fully drenched, hands working on getting the suds off his form. When he heard James gasp a little, a slight smirk tugged at his lips and he looked at the other male. “You planning on just staying there all day or you going to join me?” He was sure James picked up on the annoyance but he didn’t and a move to cover up. Erebus’ hands slid up to wash his hair, eyes flicking over to meet the male’s gaze.

[archived-sardonicxsouls-blog]

@thebxachboys liked for a starter: 

Erebus moved closer to the other, smile on his face as he wrapped a hand around their shoulders. “I think we moved well beyond the small talk phase.” He leaned over, lips almost caressing the other’s skin as he whispered, “--why don’t we take this to your room?”

[archived-sardonicxsouls-blog]

@unlockinglahey Ere & Isaac 

They’d shared a couple of rocky months with Erebus leaving for days and sometimes weeks on end in a futile attempt to rid himself of the feelings he’d developed for the mortal. Still, every time the immortal returned to his isolated cabin, Isaac was walking in as well, almost as if the were knew how long Erebus would be able to go without seeing him every single time. It was infuriating at the same time as it was amazing. Erebus would attempt to ignore Isaac but, as soon as he would make the mistake of locking eyes with the curly-haired male, he’d be overwhelmed with the sadness Isaac was feeling and Erebus would respond in the only way the deity of darkness could; he would push him against the wall and curse at him for being so damn irresistible as he kissed the thinner male. 

He’d been back for just over two months now, the longest he’s stayed with Isaac without unexpectedly leaving, and they were warming up enough that Isaac would drop onto Erebus’ lap while the god was attempting to do something. Erebus watched Isaac move around the living room, able to feel the other’s nervous energy before he’d even looked up. “What’s wrong?” there was undeniable concern there, Erebus stopped pretending he didn’t care weeks ago though sometimes he would lapse back into his dismissive behaviors and he’d find himself getting chided for it.