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st4rbe0m · 2 months

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𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ DANGEROUSLY YOURS - SJY

✺ now playing - cigarettes out the window by tv girl

✺ pairing - spy!jake x president's daughter!reader

✺ contents - angst, themes of betrayal, political talk, guns, use of feminine terms

✺ wc - 0.8K

✺ a/n - i'm ngl i was really really disappointed with how much my yeonjun fic flopped considering it was 12k words T-T

masterlist

"If I betray you, I betray myself. If I betray him, I betray my country."

The barrel of the gun is staring straight down Jake’s head. There’s sweat beading on his forehead as he looks where you’re standing, and the slight tremor in your careful hand doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He’s gulping in fear - not for his life, but your own. There was no telling who could’ve called the cops by now, with all the shouting and yelling that had ensued upon your revelation.

You look absolutely wonderful tonight. Of course you did, is there any event where the President’s daughter didn’t look gorgeous. Floor length black gown with gold detailing on the trimming, and a pearlescent silver chain delicately balanced across your collarbones, with the view Jake was facing currently, he was going to die a happy man it seemed. The only thing he wanted to change, if he could, was the heavy tears pooling in your eyes, and the absolute look of betrayal on your face. If his superiors were to see him right now, they'd reprimand him straight. The best spy of his country, the best of his team and the best agent the law enforcement could procure. The best of his best was on his knees in front of you currently, with no weapons to defend him. Only the raw, unforgiving truth.

“Explain yourself then.” Your voice is shaky, and what was supposed to sound more ironclad sounded like a broken, hopeful curiosity. Your hands are still shaking and the finger delicately perched atop the trigger is lingering like a broken echo stuck in a limbo.

“Y/N, I offer you three things right now. My heart, my country, and my life.”

“Stop! Stop with your lies! God, even now you’re cruel? You know how I fell for you, yet you couldn’t find the honor in you to remove yourself from charting these dangerous waters with me, for this mission? Where’s your compassion, Jake? Your dignity?”

“I love you, Y/N. I do. Deeper than the betrayal that I was raised on, and stronger than my traitorous blood.” He’s holding a steely determination in his eyes, more focused than he’s ever been on any other mission before. This wasn’t simply just a classified case on a document anymore. This was about the thin line between life and death.

“You don’t get it, do you Jake? From the first hour that I’ve met you, I’ve been irrevocably yours. And how am I to ever return to a point before that? How can I trust you?”

“Because I love you!”, he finally explodes in a single, shallow breath of exclamation. The last wish of a dying man.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t take your life right now!”, you explode in anger. Screaming like a madwoman, your heart hurts as you absorb in the vision of the man you love on his knees before you, pleading guilty for his betrayal.

“You may as well take my heart, Y/N. It’s already full of you.” He’s breathing heavily as you clutch your gun tighter. Your guards were to appear at any moment. It’s a starry night outside, twinkling lights littered across an inky black sky. The marble is cold beneath his knees. You’re sobbing even harder now. The lights from the chandelier behind his head reflect the glistening moisture on your cheeks.

“I love you, Y/N. And I know you love me. I could disappear right now, but I’ll always find moonlit nights strangely empty, because when I’ll call your name, Y/N, I’ll receive no answer.”

The breaking of the mahogany doors, loudly clattering open, made you both shake violently in surprise. There stood your guards, armed and ready to save you. Badges of honor laid across their lapels, the honor of the country that represented everything Jake stood against. “Don’t be afraid madam! We’re here now!”, one of them calls out to you as they swiftly make their way across the lavish ballroom to where the pair of you stood. You were still shaking, but this time Jake noticed a maniacal look in your eyes, searching and scattering around.

It was almost like the scene was slowed down. The tremble in your hands stilled as you raised your arms up, pointing with excellent marksmanship to the where the glass connected the chandelier behind his head to the ceiling. The chandelier, which with the loud bang of the bullet, made a cacophonous, crystal crashing noise against the marble floor, just a few paces ahead of your guards. Jake’s understanding of the situation makes him bolt up to his feet, and with almost automatic movement, he’s grabbing your wrist and running away towards the exit with you.

“My country is very dear to me.”

“Dearer than I?”

“No, not dearer than you.”

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haggishlyhagging · 10 months

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Women were also regularly employed in brewing, at least as much as men. Medieval peasants drank rather a lot of small (or low-alcohol) beer and ale. In the tenth-century Alfric's Colloguy, which records theoretical dialogues between a teacher and his students, one young man states, "I drink ale, usually, if I drink at all, and water if I have no ale. . . . I am not rich enough to be able to buy myself wine: Wine is not a drink for boys or fools but for old men and wise men." By the late medieval period, in brewing centers such as České Budejovice, from whence the name Budweiser comes, beer was being made on a large enough scale that it was being exported to Bavaria.

Medieval people desired to drink beer and ale not because water was unsafe, but because farmwork is extremely hard. Small beer and ale added additional calories to their daily uptake in an enjoyable way. Although the wealthy were probably able to procure professionally made and imported beers, most people, especially in the earlier medieval period, made their own ale or bought it from nearby producers. Ale was brewed primarily from barley and did not include the hops of beer, which meant it could not be stored for long before going off. As such, those who wanted ale had to be constantly brewing it to ensure a steady supply, making brewing a very common cottage industry. Women who brewed for their families would often brew excess for sale, allowing them to bring in a bit of money. Because brewing was a craft that could be learned at home, women could be employed as brewers in larger commercial breweries.

We find women in the brewing trade consistently: records show them paying taxes on their gains from brewing, and registering with the authorities who oversaw standards. When someone performed below these standards, they were frequently written up, so we can find the women who were not meeting them. The Durham Court Rolls from 1365 record that Agnes Postell and Alice de Belasis were fined twelve denarii for selling bad ale, about the equivalent of two days' work for a skilled craftsman. Similarly Alice de Belasis was separately fined two shillings, or the equivalent of five days wages, for poor-quality ale, which a court proved had no strength at all. Punishments for brewing bad ale could range from fines to ritualized humiliation. In England, the Domesday Book first recorded the use of the cucking stool (which would become the ducking stool in the early modern period) in Chester to punish those who sold bad ale or ale in incorrect measures. They would be forced to sit in a chair out side their home and be jeered at by locals. Fourteenth-century Scottish laws noted that any alewife who made "evil ale" was either fined "eight shillings" or placed in the cucking stool, a nod to women as the primary brewers in the region who could face the largely gendered humiliation as a result.

We also learn of women in the brewing profession through records of accidents. For example, one coroner's roll indicates that at around noon on October 2, 1270, Amice Belamy was carrying a tub full of gruit, an agent for flavoring ale, with Sibyl Bonchevaler at her work in Lady Juliana de Beauchamp's brewhouse in Staple, Eaton Socon. As they went to dump the gruit into the boiling vat of beer, Amice slipped and fell into it and was trapped by the tub that fell on top of her. "Sibyl immediately jumped towards her, dragged her from the vat and shouted; the household came and found her scalded almost to death. She was given the last rites of the church and died on the day following. This harrowing story reminds us what a physically tasking and dangerous job brewing, especially in large quantities, could be.

This episode is also interesting because the two women were working for another woman, and a lady at that, Juliana de Beauchamp. Brewing was commonly associated with women across class lines, since the brewhouse is listed as belonging to the Lady Juliana. All in all, during these years a woman was just as likely to be brewing ale as a man, if not more likely in some instances.

-Eleanor Janega, The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women’s Roles in Society

#eleanor janega #medieval history #womens history #history of brewing #brewsters

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daydreaming-nerd · 6 months

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Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 3

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: Sorry these are taking longer than normal, after the 25th I'm a free fuckin' agent and if you check my updated masterlist you will see I have so many things in the works.

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Sexisim, trauma from under the mountain, alcohol, SA

Word Count: 4,189

Another week had come and gone. A week full of tight corsets, uncomfortable shoes, trips to the Autumn Court and of course, snide comments from Eris.

As of late I had begun having nightmares. The kind that left me screaming in bed with no one to hear me. The kind that had me waking up in a pool of my own sweat. It was the same every time, I was the dog in the back of Eris’ kennels. Scared, alone and caged. I would scour the entire cage for a way out, my finger with that giant wedding ring on it scouring the straw covered floors, never once finding an escape. Eris would come in and bend me over like an animal and sometimes I would wake up before he used me and sometimes I would wake up after.

Regardless I was left unable to sleep. So I had taken to my dear brother's liquor cabinet to procure my own sleeping tonic, whiskey. For a few nights it has worked to put me to sleep, but not tonight.

I swirled the last little bit of whiskey around the bottom of the bottle before slugging it all down. I had been slowly nursing the bottle the past two nights knowing that tonight might be my only night to procure a new bottle without anyone seeing. Tonight was boys night at Rita’s meaning that Cassian and Azriel were out with my brother and no one was home to fuss over my new drinking habits.

I toss the empty bottle off the side of my bed and slowly but surely get up, wrapping myself in my silk night robe. My feet wobble beneath me as I make my way to the door, thankfully I know the way to the kitchen like the back of my hand. The only real obstacle being the long dark hallway, but even that’s a straight shot.

I close the door of my bedroom quietly behind me in case there are any maids wandering about the dark hallway that I can’t see. I walk in as straight a line as I can and it isn’t long until I run smack into a wall. When the hell did that get there?

“Princess? ” Cassian hiccuped

It takes me a second to realize the wall I ran into was Cassian, and I start to feel a little better, that is until I start to wobble again.

“Are you drunk?” Cassian hiccups again and I feel his hands on my arms stabilizing me. The smell of cedar, leather and whiskey floating over to me.

“Yeah, but you are too,” I pointed out, pushing a finger into his rock hard chest for emphasis. My eyes adjust to the dark lighting and I can see his face peering down at me. That sculpted, beautiful face that they should really write sonnets about.

“Have to drown my sorrows somehow,” Cassian shrugs, letting go of my arms, stumbling back on his feet.

“Pfft, like you have any sorrows general,” I scoff, starting to move past him. I trip on his foot and nearly fall over, the only thing keeping me from getting an awful rug burn is Cassian catching me by my upper arm.

“Shit princess I can barely walk but let me get you a glass of water,” he says, putting me back on my two feet again.

My heart flutters at his kindness, “You would do that?” I smile drunkenly.

“I’d do anything for you y/n,” Cassian replies and I can tell by the expression on his face that he regrets the words the moment they come out of his drunken mouth. It dawns on me that I’ve never heard Cassian call me by my name before, and I quite like the sound of it.

“W-would you really?” I stumble letting my drunk mind do the talking.

“As long as you’ll let me, I’ll do anything for you princess,” he reiterates and I don’t miss how he switches back to my formal title once more.

“Cassian,” I breathe, unable to say anything more.

“Anything, just tell me what you want,” he says quietly.

My mind swirls with all the things that I want him to do. Get me a glass of water, take me away from here, kiss me. But all those lead to one common bad ending…

“Eris,” I whisper, realizing how close Cassian is to me.

“Don’t marry him,” Cassian slurs, wobbling a bit as he places his hands on my hips. The feeling of his hands on me, and knowing that the only thing separating his skin from mine is a thin silk robe. He seems to realize it too as his glassed over eyes look me up and down. It’s enough to sober up my mind and realize what’s going on.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” I say. “I belong to Eris now.”

“Not yet you don’t,” he hiccups for the third time. “Please, don’t marry him,” he says, getting even closer to me.

I push Cassian off me and he stumbles back, “You’re drunk Cassian and I am too. We should both go to bed, we have a big day tomorrow.” I say stumbling back as best I can towards my bedroom.

The general doesn’t say anything, doesn’t protest or beg and as I step into my bedroom I don’t miss the curse he mutters to himself before waltzing into his own.

The next morning I wake with a raging headache that has me in bed until it’s time for me to attend dinner at the Autumn Court. If it wasn’t for my ladies maids I never would’ve left the warm cocoon of my covers. But I did, and in place of soft sheets was a death grip of a corset and I swore it was tighter than the last one. I looked in the mirror and realized that they had been choosing more and more revealing dresses for me, this one I was sure I had never seen before now.

I made my way into the foyer where I knew Cassian would be waiting dutifully and sure enough the second I walked in his eyes turned to me. I searched for a sign of regret or awkwardness in his eyes given the events of last night, but all I found was Cassian. Handsome, strong, loyal and wonderful Cassian, and a part of me sighed in relief knowing I wouldn’t lose the one life line I had when I was in Eris’ territory.

“You ready to go?” He asks me as he always does.

“I think so,” I answer walking over to him so he can scoop me up.

We take off into the air and the second we are airborne I feel a chill run up my spine. We don’t normally head to the Autumn Court so late in the day, and without the sun to warm my skin the cold seeps in. A cold that has me curling into Cassian more and I swear I feel his arms tighten around me.

“So dinner with the potential, future in-laws tonight?” he asks.

“I suppose so,” I sigh.

“You’ll do great, don't worry,” he smiles trying to lift my mood.

“And what if I don’t want to do great? What if I want things to go so terribly that Eris breaks off the engagement and starts a fight?” I bluster, half joking.

“Then I’ll hold while you punch Princess,” Cassian laughs and the vibrations roll through my body.

“Good dog,” I joke and Cassian erupts in a fit of laughter that warms my soul.

By the time we get there the Autumn Court is lit up with fae lights and the way they illuminate the colors of the autumn trees is breathtaking. Even in the distance I see and feel Eris’ presence like a dark cloud looming over me. Cassian touches down on the front steps and places me on the ground like I’m made of porcelain.

“Good evening my little flame,” Eris greets me, allowing his hands to fall to my waist pulling me in for a kiss. This past week he has gotten more comfortable with affection, but thankfully he had never repeated what happened under the willow tree.

“Good evening Eris,” I give a fake smile as he takes my hands in his. It was my last visit that Eris insisted that I dropped the formalities of calling him Prince Eris, something I felt was off character.

“I have a gift for you,” he smiles, pulling a long black box out from behind his back. He opens it revealing a necklace made up of large rubies. No doubt part of the crown jewels of the Autumn Court.

“Oh Eris! It’s beautiful,” I smile, running my hand over the large gems. I hated to admit it but they were truly breathtaking. Something I would’ve asked my brother to gift me for solstice. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Eris plucks the necklace from the velvet box and motions me to turn around so he can put it on. “I might’ve had ulterior motives,” he smirks, placing the jewels over my neck and clasping them on.

“Well thank you, I really do love it,” I say, running my hands over the large jewels one last time.

It isn’t until I feel the weight of the necklace and hear his words that I realize that ulterior motive. This isn’t just a gift, or a necklace, or even a family heirloom. It's a collar. One meant to show that I belong to him. The weight of it suddenly becomes burdensome and doubles as Eris stands back to admire the necklace now that I’m wearing it.

“It looks perfect on that beautiful little neck,” he smirks, offering me his arm that I take politely. “My family is very eager to meet you. Especially my brothers who have only ever heard stories of your beauty.” he says leading me inside.

“Well I hope that I can live up to my reputation then,” I smile as my heels clack along the marble floors.

“In that dress little flame,” Eris says, looking me up and down, eyes lingering on the cleavage the neckline showed off. “You will be like a walking temptation.”

We make our way to the large dining room and my eyes scan the table. Mounds and mounds of food and wine are littered all over it, enough for the whole court I presume. Everything from duck to boar, no doubt from Eris’ hunts. My mind flashes to the hounds in the kennel and I actively push the thought away.

On one side of the table sits Eris’ six brothers, all of them alike in age. At the head of each end sits Beron Vanserra and his wife. I look for an empty chair, and only find two.

“It’s wonderful to see you again princess,” Beron booms as Eris pulls my chair out for me.

“And you as well High Lord,” I smile bowing to him.

I’m thankful for the chair that now supports me from beneath as I feel my knees start to wobble. I look around at the table once more now that I’m seated, and the plethora of red hair and piercing eyes is enough to make me feel like I’m a lamb shoved in a wolf's den. I feel Cassian taking up space by the door and my heart breaks knowing he must be hungry too.

“Excuse me High Lord,” I ask, pulling Beron’s attention. “But I wonder if you might procure a seat for my guard so that he might enjoy this divine meal as well.”

“Bastards are not allowed to sit at this table,” Beron says with a cool, calm, authority that I almost envy. My blood boils at his words, and tears nearly brim my eyes. Cassian was so much more than a ‘bastard’. Gods, one Cassian was worth more than everyone at this table combined. But to say that would mean my head on a platter.

“Of course my Lord, I don’t know what came over me,” I apologize, bowing my head in submissal.

“Darling you simply must try the wine,” Eris says pouring me a glass.

I swirl the red liquid around and give it a sniff. The strong scent of dark, ripe berries hits my nose. I take a sip and though I hate to admit it, it tastes like heaven. Or perhaps my body is aware that the effects of this wine are the only things that will help me get through this dinner.

“It’s amazing,” I beam looking at my glass. “I love bold reds.”

“From our vineyards here in the Autumn Court,” Beron says proudly. “I’ll be sure to send a case to your brother for you both to enjoy.”

“We would love that, thank you.” I smile while taking another sip.

The table falls into a comfortable conversation and I do my best to keep my head down like Beron's wife, as whatever behavior she portrays will likely be what’s expected of me. So far her etiquette imitates what Eris so crudely said to me just a few days ago…Wives are meant to be seen and not heard, except for in bed of course. Men do love the little whimpers of pain women emit when they are deflowered…

I suppress a shudder at the remembrance of those words, and even though the comment that floats to my ears is another bit of sexist garbage, I’m sadly grateful for the distraction.

“By the gods she is perfect,” one of Eris' brothers says quietly to the other.

I try to hide my blush with another sip of wine, followed by another chunk of potato. Doing everything I can to pretend that I can’t hear the conversation the three brothers in front of me are quietly having.

“Look at her tits,” another one rasps his eyes not so subtly glazing over me, the other brother in the conversation doing the same. I suddenly feel like I’m a piece of livestock up for auction.

“How is it that Eris gets to have the Jewel?” the third one asks quietly, but not quiet enough to escape Eris’ ears.

“Because I am the eldest!” Eris shouts, slamming his fists on the table, and the only person who doesn’t jump from his outburst is Beron. “And you’d do well to hold your tongue in front of the potential mother to the heir of the throne you’ll never inherit.”

I can see the other side of the table debating whether to fight back or not, but it’s Beron who breaks the silence with the ease only a High Lord could do. “I assume that you and your brother will be attending our ball celebrating our fall solstice later this week princess?” Beron asks me.

“Yes of course,” I tell him, setting down my glass of wine.

“Wonderful! We’re quite excited to have you both in attendance. It is our fist ball since our time under the mountain,” he explains.

“Who else will be attending?” I ask, swirling my wine around in its glass.

“All the High Lords and the most trusted members of their courts,” Beron answers and it takes everything in me not to laugh.

My mind flickered back to the months before my family locked me away, months where every High Lord would fall to his feet and beg for my hand in marriage. No doubt Eris would now play the role of fighting them all off and the image of him being an angry and frustrated toddler brought me joy.

“Then I hope your son isn’t a jealous man,” I smile while sipping my wine. “Helion is a good friend, but he’s been asking my brother for my hand for years. Rhys practically had to beat him off with a stick.” I laugh, the effects of the wine taking over.

What’s meant to be a lighthearted joke turns sour as I see the flames dance in Eris’ eyes, “Jealousy is a weak emotion, princess, But rest assured, I have no intention of allowing any man to lay claim to what is rightfully mine,” he starts and leans into my ear so only I can hear him. “And if Helion continues to pursue you, I’ll just have to deflower you right in front of his very eyes.”

I want to come up with a witty response. I want to yell or scream or defend myself for the love of gods, but I can’t. All I can do is swallow the fear within me with another sip of wine and hope this den of wolves doesn't scent my fear.

The rest of dinner is quiet and uneventful, I let the men converse, keeping note of the many glasses of wine Eris consumes. I turn my attention to the only other female at the table and I try to study her every move. Beron's wife says nothing, and I note that it’s my job to do the same. A pretty little wall ornament indeed.

“If you’ll excuse us father,” Eris says standing up. “I would like to take the princess on a little stroll.”

“Very well my son you are excused,” Beron nods to Eris. “I look forward to seeing you later this week my dear.” Beron says to me.

I nod, trying to keep the illusion of submission up and Eris leads me out of the dining hall and down a dark hall. The chattering voices no doubt talking about me drifting off behind us. As we get further and further away from the dining room, I start to feel my stomach drop. Something is wrong, something is terribly wrong. But like usual, I don’t have the voice to say anything. We come across another dark hall, one so pitch black I would think it’s an endless void if it wasn’t for the light at the far end.

“Sit and stay bastard,” Eris growls towards Cassian like he’s one of his hounds. “I require a private moment with the Jewel.”

Cassian grumbles but allows Eris to lead me further into the shadows, the only way he could see us at this point is the faelight at the other end of the hall that would cast our silhouettes onto the floor. I try to throw him a frightened glance, but just like many times before, Eris seems to have found a way to keep me from doing so.

“The general seems quite attached to you, it’s nice to finally have some time alone,” Eris says as he leads me through the long dark hallway. I swear I’d bump into a rouge chaise or grandfather clock lining the wall if it wasn’t his arm in mine.

“Cassian has my best interest at heart, he wants to keep me safe,” I reply, trying to keep my voice from sounding confrontational.

“And he believes that I couldn’t keep you safe?” Eris retorts and I nearly scoff.

“It’s not that, I think he believes you might take certain…shall I say, liberties with me,” I mumble trying to keep my head low.

Eris' body tenses next to mine and I know I’ve made a grave mistake. “You’re mine, I can take whatever liberties I wish to.” he growls and before I know it my back is against a wall. “If he thinks I’ll marry you without trying you out he’s more of a simple minded bastard than I thought.”

“Eris please,” I breathe trying to rip my wrists from his grasp but it’s no use.

“Are you fighting or begging, little flame?” he muses, wine scented breath brushing my neck. “Either way it makes my cock hard.” he smiles, pressing his lips to my neck.

His body is flush to mine and I can feel one hand pinning my wrists to the wall in a way that will leave bruises while the other explores my body. His lips are hot and wet on my neck and chest wandering dangerously low.

“This isn’t proper,” I protest and try to wiggle out of his grasp for emphasis but I only succeed in grinding myself into him more.

“Then I’ll make it fucking proper!” Eris seethes gripping my chin to make my gaze meet his. Those amber eyes are somehow darker and more intimidating in the low light. “Now be a good girl and let me kiss you,” he smirks before pressing his lips to mine.

For what it was worth Eris hadn’t made any advances on me since the first time under the willow. But tonight, with the copious amounts of wine flowing through his veins? Well it must’ve been just enough for his resolve to snap. His lips still taste like venom, everything about him all wrong. It takes everything in me not to get sick all over his perfectly tailored jacket.

“Eris stop it!” I whine pushing him away further.

“I must have you my little flame,” he groans and I feel his hands grip my skirt.

My heart starts to race even more, and if I wasn’t going to be sick before I surely was going to be now. His mouth resumed its assault on my neck, messy and needy just like earlier. Large hands bunch up the layers of fabric and tulle until the cold air hits my bare legs.

“ERIS STOP!” I screamed pushing him off me with all my strength and it was enough to make him stumble.

A dark shadow appears before us as if it was transported there, “Eris that’s enough! It’s time for the princess to go home.” Cassian roars.

“Stay in your place bastard!” Eris seethes. “She belongs to me. I can use her however I like!”

“She belongs to no one! You have no right to compromise her virtue before you wed her. Rhysand won’t allow it.” Cassian continues, the voice of a general coming through. One so demanding even I would lower my weapons for him, apparently not Eris.

“Ha!” Eris laughs, thrusting a hand out to grab me by my neck. His grip is like a vice, a collar that burns hotter than one he already gave me. “Didn’t you hear her little begs? I think she might want to be deflowered before the ceremony. Wouldn’t you pet?”

Cassian’s hand strikes, grabbing Eris’ wrist. The one connected to the hand wrapped around my throat, “All I have to do is squeeze and that hand won’t hold a bow for months and I have the authority to do so. Get your fucking hands off her before I shatter your entire arm,” he growls and even I feel fear from his tone.

The deafening ringing of the clocktower bells chime throughout the palace like the voice of the gods dampening the tension in the air. The seven chimes signal it’s time for me to return home once more. Eris releases me, and against my better judgment Cassian releases Eris. But it doesn’t stop them from staring daggers into one another, if Cassian jumps now it’ll be his head on a pike and I’d rather die than allow that to happen.

“Cassian is right,” I say to Eris standing between the two of them. “It’s better if we wait. If you choose to marry me, imagine how amazing our wedding night will be.” I smile at Eris, pulling him for a passionate kiss, hiding every ounce of disgust I feel.

“That’s more like it, my pet,” he smirks, glancing up at Cassian in a challenge. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Until then,” I smile, letting Cassian lead me away.

The second we are around the corner that shields us from Eris’ view we both begin walking much faster. As if the eldest son of autumn is a monster at our heels and we have limited time to get out of this gods forsaken palace. When the crisp air of Autumn hits my skin Cassian doesn’t even ask if I’m ready before picking me up and shooting me into the sky.

“We need to go talk to Rhys and tell him what happened,” Cassian said, his wings pounding with a new urgency.

“No!” I protest. “We can’t tell him. I don’t want him to have an even more guilty conscience than he has from the last fifty years.”

“Princess you saw what just happened back there! Eris was going to take advantage of you. Rhys deserves to know.” he argues.

“If Rhys knows he’ll call off the courtship and if he calls off the courtship then I can’t marry Eris which means I can’t save my court,” I explain.

“This has gotten out of hand princess, we have to tell your brother,” Cassian grumbles.

“Cassian please, don’t take my choices away from me. I love my court and I love my family. If this is how I can help all of you in the war I want to,” I shrill. “I can take ‘the sky is falling’ from just about everyone but you. I need you to support me Cassian.”

I look into Cassian’s eyes and I can see them still burning with unmatched fury. I let my own eyes plead to his, trying to convey how badly I needed him to stay quiet about what had happened. How badly I needed him to let me do this, to trust me. His eyes softened and his gaze fixed itself on the flight before us.

“Fine,” he shook his head. “But if he pulls a stunt like that again I won’t stand by and watch this time.”

“Of course not general,” I smile, watching the wind whip the stray hairs from his face. “I’ll hold while you punch.”

Though he tries to hide his amusement at my joke, Cassian’s mouth can’t help but turn up into a half smile.

Part 4

Taglist: @crystalferret202 , @nickishadow139 , @graceshifts , @writeroutoftime, @heyyitsnat21, @stinkinstuffie , @lilah-asteria , @12358

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procurement-insights · 1 month

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When it comes to AI, Show Me The Results (Money)!

Message to Solution Providers: "Please show me the results and confirm that you are a profitable organization, and I will sing your praises far and wide."

EDITOR’S NOTE: The response to the comment below has been “energized” if not particularly relevant. Despite spending the better part of my 65 years in high-tech and procurement and loving all technology, simply asking for tangible results, e.g., “Haha, that’s ok, John, there were a few detractors of the internet too! Notably, calling it a passing fad!” My problem isn’t with technology; it is…

#agent-basd model #Agentic AI #AI #equation-based #genai #procurement #supply chain #technology

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mailnews · 26 days

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FLOT VIAGENS

Sempre tem uma TURQUIA que é a Cara do Seu Passageiro

https://mail.mailnews.com.br/mail/FLOT-63-24/flot-63-24.html

Caso não consiga visualizar o informativo, por favor acesse www.mailnews.com.br, e procure em INFORMATIVOS MAIS RECENTES, no canto esquerdo superior da página. Este informativo é publicado pela Mailnews e direcionado exclusivamente aos Agentes de Viagens.

#FLOT VIAGENS #Sempre tem uma TURQUIA que é a Cara do Seu Passageiro #https://mail.mailnews.com.br/mail/FLOT-63-24/flot-63-24.html #--------------------------------------------------------------#Caso não consiga visualizar o informativo #por favor acesse www.mailnews.com.br #e procure em INFORMATIVOS MAIS RECENTES #no canto esquerdo superior da página. Este informativo é publicado pela Mailnews e direcionado exclusivamente aos Agentes de Viagens.

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moongirlwidow · 3 months

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File: Volkov, Vespera Anetka

Alias: Winter Widow

Status: classified

File Last updated: July 4, 2023 AD

———

Age: 15

Class: 16ABX

Graduation Year: 2023

Origin: Romania

Birthday: August 11, 2008

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Handlers: Krista Udova(62431), Milunka Dulovna(90218), Melina Vostokov(Iron Maiden)

Trainers: Winter Soldier(Barnes, James B.), Taskmaster(Dreykov, Antonia)

Track: Field Agent(undercover; weapons specialist)

Appearance

Eye color: gray

Hair color: black

Skin: white; pale

Build: tall, lean, bony

Height: 5’9.79”

Weight: 101.235lbs

Notable markings:

birthmark;right thigh back, oblong Burn scar; left ankle, inside, 4”x 3”x 9”

Specialty Training

- Figure Skating

Began: 2 years

Training time: 6hrs every other day, 17hrs every Thursday and Monday

On track to the Winter Olympic Games. Reliably lands quads, possible pairing with Hydra 20180 for pair skating.

- Deadlift

Began: 6 years

Training time: 1hr daily

Will reach national record by 2028

Current capacity: 480lbs

- Combat Mimicry

Began: 7 years

Can mimic opponent’s fighting style closely. Taught by Taskmaster

- Biochemistry

- Codebreaking

- linguistics

Languages

Spoken: Russian, English, Norwegian, Welsh, Polish, Romanian, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Qubecois, Italian, Latin, Ancient Greek, Greek, Old English, Cantonese, Japanese, German, Hebrew, Sanskrit, Korean, Swedish, Hindi, Punjabi, Pennsylvania Dutch and Scots Gaelic

Written: braille, Russian, English, Norwegian, Welsh, Polish, Romanian, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Qubecois, Italian, Latin, Ancient Greek, Greek, Old English, Cantonese, Japanese, German, Hebrew, Sanskrit, Korean, Swedish, Hindi, Punjabi, Pennsylvania Dutch and Scots Gaelic

Read: braille, Russian, English, Norwegian, Welsh, Polish, Romanian, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Qubecois, Italian, Latin, Ancient Greek, Greek, Old English, Cantonese, Japanese, German, Hebrew, Sanskrit, Korean, Swedish, Hindi, Punjabi, Pennsylvania Dutch and Scots Gaelic

Other: American Sign Language, Russian Sign Language, International Sign, Morse code

Status

[section redacted]

Role

- replace the Iron Maiden following graduation

- should Taskmaster Program default, replace Winter Soldier and Taskmaster

- restore Red Academy-HYDRA control over XXXXXXXXX

Miscellaneous

— favored by Lt.Borisov

- Untouchable Status — RE; Grad Mission

- Enforced Separations — not allowed with peers without supervision, initiated 2015

- extremely exemplary when undercover in Queer Rebellion Groups, Lesbian Covers reccomended

Graduation Mission Assign.

Seduce XXXX XXXXXXX as debutant Gabrielle La Aubrey(CF61789), knock out with C19JL1990 formula(oral component), identify and procure XXXXXX XXXXX through whirlwind romance focusing on subject’s romantic beliefs. XXXXXXX has taste for young virgin women, will have just inherited full title/shares; foolish party persona crafted. Deep Cover in France; 6 weeks, fake family emergency and return with items. (Summary)

Part II

#files from the past #the winter widow #vera volkov #marvel rp #mcu #marvel #mcu rp #marvel mcu #marvel ask blog #marvel cinimatic universe #lore drop

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larkser · 4 months

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#product sourcing company in china #procurement services provider #one-stop sourcing and supply #best china sourcing agent #shipping agent in china

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 5 months

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ezra + bath oil + titties

You absolute menace ily hahaha. Initially I was just going to do a short lil drabble that was a continuation of our disgusting musings about this man, but then I said why not make this into an entire feature in honor of @swiftiscruff's Friendship Exchange? You know, give our boy Ezra some real time to shine, and all in the name of celebrating friendships formed over that little verbose slut?

So, here is my Ezra oil shower titty fic dedicated to the lovely Kelli in celebration of the Friendship Exchange.

𝗔𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗶𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂

PAIRING(s): Ezra x fem!reader RATING: explicit material | 18+ WORD COUNT: 3k CONTENT: AU where Cee doesn't exist sorry lmao, established relationship, titty fixation, edible/food safe bathing oils, Ezra comes with his own warning, egalitarian assplay, cumplay, fabric washcloth used as gripping agent

Your nose for the most part had become blind to Ezra’s signature, tangy musk that edged into a ripe stench on hotter days. Even though you’d settled into the outskirts of a modest trading town and begun taking on the doldrums of keeping house, Ezra hadn’t fallen from his habit of going a little too long in between bath days. In times past he would go unshowered due to lack of amenities – the worlds you’d traveled and harvested from had hardly offered much in the way of hygienic routine – but now there was no such obstacle. He could bathe any time he wished and take as long as he pleased. You had your own home together now, one you were building upon each and every day, but the transient, unpredictable life that had become so ingrained into him was hard to shake. The notion of permanence was fleeting no matter how many days passed under your roof.

You, on the other hand, had become part fish since putting down roots here. There was a bathtub and a separate shower, and you craved the warm pool of water to soak in after a long day. Ezra liked to give you grief for wasting such a precious resource as water even though this planet was abundant in it. And yet, his admonishing never kept him from slipping into the wash room to ogle your bare form in the bath. You just wish every now and then he’d partake himself.

“The suns in all their unwavering glory has me feeling wrung of every bit of moisture,” he huffs as he fills a glass with something to wet his tongue and flood his scratchy, dry throat. “It’s good fortune that we needn’t adorn ourselves in protective suits here. I can only imagine the sort of foul fog that would cling to me then.”

You’re well aware of the second sun’s habit of becoming unbearable in these few weeks that your now home planet rotates closer to it. Your skin is sticky and wet with exertion, but at least all the growth pods you and Ezra have worked so tirelessly to establish are flourishing. They needed as much extra attention as any human on this planet did during these hotter spells. Soon enough you will forget all about the vehement heat when you and Ezra take your yields to the market during The Great Exchange and come home with lighter wagons and heavier pockets.

You accept the glass from Ezra and drink down whatever he’d poured. The cool creep of it down your throat already feels one step closer to equilibrium. “I guess we should wash up before we get the entire house dirty,” you reason.

“Hm, I suppose we should.”

You trod upstairs to the bathroom and bite back a scream when you see Ezra procure one entirely too small washcloth from the cabinet.

“You’re only washing at the sink?” you ask in what you pray isn’t a too panicked timbre.

“You don’t think the sink is robust enough to address my filth?”

You scrunch your nose, and that’s all the answer he needs. He chuckles a little and sets the singular washcloth aside. It already has smudges of who knows what just from him handling it.

“Tell me what you propose, my Little Gem.” He has an easy smile and those dangerous, glittery eyes fixed onto you.

“I mean, if you’re too tired I could, you know, I wouldn’t mind getting you washed up.” You shrug as though it’s enough to offset your way too eager proposition.

“You believe my own efforts are inferior?” he teases. “My Little Gem needs to take matters into her own hands and not rely on the fates?”

“Well, you’re always talking about wasting water. Wouldn’t it be saving water if we showered together?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You would forgo your hallowed soak just to bathe with me, Little Gem?”

“I’m way too gross to just get into a bath. It’d just be sitting in a pool of my own funk. This level of gross calls for a full on shower, I think.”

“And you’ll tend to me in there?” he purrs as he steps closer to you and curves his hands over your hips. The pungent tang of his body makes your nose scrunch again.

“Much to tend to, it seems,” he remarks in response to your overt repulsion.

You need to take Ezra up on his noncommittal commitment of getting into the shower with you before he changes his mind. You quickly concoct a plan to hold his attention and agreeability in the small shower. You grab the soaking oil you drizzle into your baths on especially achy days and prop it on the shower ledge. You start peeling off grimy, damp layers of clothing and nod to Ezra, who begins doing the same.

You cross the room to where you stow your accessories and extras and grab a few items to pin your hair back. The last thing you need is something getting in the way of you giving him a thorough scrub down. Ezra saunters after you like a cat on the prowl, eyes roaming greedily up and down. Before he can derail the entire enterprise, you slink into the shower and start the water.

The initially cool spray is a contrary sensation to the heat emanating from your skin, but it quickly warms to a soothing slip. The stall darkens as he steps inside, broad shoulders blocking out the light struggling to filter in through the expanse of him. His frame was a thickened amalgamation of corded musculature padded in the softened flesh of a satiating supper every evening. The work here kept him lean for the most part, but you much preferred this iteration of him – all brawn and lithe but with the markers of an untroubled life.

“It seems all displeasure with my hygiene is forgotten once I’m naked as the day I was born,” he murmurs low and self-satisfied.

You roll your eyes but know he’s correct. A lover as competent and enthusiastic as Ezra meant overlooking other personal drawbacks wasn’t too difficult. “I’m sizing up my work,” you protest.

“And what do you make of its sizing?” he purrs with a gentle roll of his hips against you.

You knew this was where things would go almost immediately, and yet you still had the nerve to be caught off guard. “Ezra,” you grit out. You guide him under the stream and tell him to stay put while you grab the stack of washcloths you’ll need.

Upon your return you note the ashen brown water falling from him and circling the drain. “I must admit–” he says through the water rushing over him. Your eyes catch the flex of his biceps as he raises his arms up to work the water through his hair and scalp. “–There is something quite divine about the ritual. All sins washed away. A clean slate. A pure soul ready to be defiled once again. Isn’t that right, Little Gem?”

“What?” you mumble absentmindedly, too preoccupied on ogling the trail of water snaking down his torso and into the thicket of brown coarse hairs below his waist.

He only grins with a devious slant to his mouth and pulls you under the spray with him. His hands wander across your body in a lazy exploration. The only thing keeping you from abandoning your task altogether and just letting him take you right there in the shower is the persistent odor still clinging to him, now taking on a damp quality that only heightens the earthy grub and grit components within.

“Take a seat on the ledge, Ezra.”

He gropes the curve of your ass and presses a few kisses to the column of your neck before complying. “I’m at your disposal.” He spreads his arms open, inviting the work and focus of your hands on him.

You avoid looking at his half hard cock bobbing gently with every movement and soap up the first cloth. You try to avoid the snare of his gaze as you begin scrubbing his face, but he catches you with it as you lather through his beard. The corner of his mouth pulls up, an instant reassurance that he knows exactly the effect he has on you.

His face is a brighter, pinker vision once you rinse it, and it solidifies your resolve to scrub every inch of this man while he’s indulging your whim. His hands roam up and down your legs as you scratch and scour his hair. The fragrance of the soap combined with the purged dirt fills the space. You move to your hands and knees and start scrubbing from toe to knee then thigh to groin. He surprisingly doesn’t make too much of a fuss, which is good considering it takes three separate washcloths to get that section entirely cleaned.

“Surely I’ve indulged your caretaking long enough to have earned a different kind of corporeal attention?” He leans forward and noses at your neck and earlobe, and your body shivers despite the warm rush of water trailing down your back.

“Grab that bottle to your left,” you order as you start scrubbing down his torso. Your breath catches when your wrist bumps into his fully hardened, weeping cock, and you catch the curve of a smirk playing on his mouth. He holds up the unlabeled bottle and gives it a questioning shake.

“An aphrodisiac?” His eyebrow cocks in devilish curiosity.

“Bath oil,” you snort. “You can, um, put some on me while I’m working on you. You know, just so it has time to soak in before I wash up, too. If you don’t mind.”

His eyes narrow and pull the edge of his mouth upward. He sees right through you, just like he always does. “Here I was thinking my purest Little Gem wouldn’t resort to such lowly deceit and bribery.” He pops the cap of the bath oil open and drizzles a moderate amount into his hand before setting the bottle aside again. He’s clearly amused with the ruse you’ve concocted, but unfettered exploration of your body is apparently a bribe he’s willing to accept.

“Resume your venture to free me from all the remnants of my labors,” he obliges.

“You know, you could just say ‘keep scrubbing me because I know I still smell’, Ez.”

He grins and raises his hands until they hover above your chest, little trickling lines of oil falling onto the slope of your breasts and dripping down slowly. You push your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep yourself grounded. If Ezra decided to start toying with you, you didn’t stand a chance at resisting his efforts.

You slather his arms from wrist to shoulder and work your way to his torso. Meanwhile he grazes a slick finger against your nipples in a ghost of a touch that has you subconsciously chasing his hand. You finish underneath each of his armpits, and, just when he’s behaved himself long enough to catch you off guard, he flicks one of your nipples hard with the edge of a fingernail. A shaky gasp of sharp pleasure flies from your throat quickly followed by a second one when he does it to the other side.

“See to my hindparts, won’t you?” he solicits with a deceptively innocent expression.

You clench your teeth together and take a step forward so you can reach over his shoulders and wash his back. He dips his head and takes as much of your breast into his mouth as he can and suctions with as much strength as he can exert. You yelp and attempt to release the clutch of his mouth from your sensitive bud, but he only sucks harder with a satisfied groan. His arms circle around each of your legs and cause you to lose your footing, which he uses as a distraction to switch sides.

Little pinpricks of purple have cropped up in a bloom of red from where he already sucked, and the force of his pull now promises no different for the other side. He loved to do this to you – get you off kilter, overstimulated, and seeking out more, often all at once. Your breaths come out whiny as he latches and pulls on your nipples and tissue.

“Ez,” you gasp. “I’m–I have to–to finish.”

He grips the flesh of your ass and pulls one cheek aside so that he can deftly push a thick fingertip into your puckering rim. It glides in with no resistance, and you almost think the oil wasn’t even necessary with how much you ached for him to fill you there. He pulls away just enough to disorient you with his intoxicating diction.

“Perhaps before our wash is complete, you’ll be beseeching me just to feel the breadth of me cleaving you apart,” he husks. “Nearly weeping for me to bury my cock in this hole just as you did only two nights ago.”

“It feels good,” you mewl weakly.

He hums low and gravelly in agreement as he resumes his ministrations on your breasts. The tip of his finger plunges shallow, a slow in and out, and you know it’s just to tease you for what you won’t get until you are begging him for it. You think that he must revel in the sway he has over you when he so fervently succumbs to you. There’s something so raw and vulnerable in the way he cannot deny his devotion and attachment to you, and so he must have some part of you in the same way as to not feel entirely powerless.

You’re panting despite exerting very little energy at the moment. “I-I really need to finish washing you u—”

He pops off with a loud smack and abruptly stands. He crowds you against the corner and props a foot up on the ledge, caging you in with his cock right at your eye level. Your hands rush with a washcloth and soap, now more greedy to feel him than cleanse him. You lather his entire groin area and resist the urge to lick up the beads of precum dribbling from his ruddy tip. Your eyes keep traveling up to meet his where he watches down on you with an almost omnipotent, divine consideration.

The last washcloth falls to the shower floor, and Ezra slowly walks backward into the water to rinse himself. It’s probably just a trick of the mind, but you swear he appears less hazy than usual with all the grime cleared from him. Your mouth is slack as you watch from your hands and knees on the shower floor, impossibly cramped into the corner of the small space. He smiles down at you. You know how much he loves seeing you on your knees in front of him.

Without a word, he moves the shower head to the side so that it pelts against the tile instead of spraying down on you both before turning around and hitching his other leg up on the ledge. He braces himself on the wall and the wobbly metal and glass door on the other side.

“Reap the benefits of your work, Little Gem,” he says over his shoulder.

You frantically douse your hand with a generous dab of the bath oil and walk on your knees until your mouth is flush against the cleft of his ass. A strangled whimper ekes out of him as you reach a hand between his legs and stroke his neglected cock with the slippery pull of the oil. You entrench your face into him until your flicking tongue delves into his asshole. You massage and prod into it, eyes rolling back when you feel how it clenches in delight at your motions.

Ezra turns again to face you now with what can only be described as a wild, hungry look in his eye. He takes the neatly stacked pile of used washcloths and tosses them onto the floor. You have no time to question his motives because he’s grabbing the bottle of oil and squeezing globs of it onto your breasts, barely returning the bottle to its place on the shelf before he’s massaging them and awkwardly shoving his cock between them and rutting against their pillowy, fleshy tightness.

“Shit,” he hisses. “That ass. That asshole of yours. These tits.” He sounds pained just trying to speak. His face screws up as he fucks between them, moaning appreciatively when you use your hands to press them closer together for him to fuck.

“You like my tits?” you ask a little breathlessly.

He makes a noise of great effort, eyes pinching shut at your goading question. He frees his cock and takes the flat of his hand to slap against your peaked buds. You cry out in pleasure at the sharp, blissful sting. “Bet I could make you come for me just like this. Couldn’t I, Little Gem?” he grits.

“Y-Yes,” you moan.

He makes some unhinged noise and slaps against your breasts in quick succession, barking out an order for you to touch yourself, and teeth glinting in the light with a manic grin as you climax. He starts fisting his length over your face, breaths coming fast and heavy.

“Open wide now,” he pants as he tugs his cock faster. The tip of it knocks against your lip, and you open wider with your tongue jutting flat and spread out for him to cover.

“Just like that Little Gem,” he rasps. “Hold it open and drink me.”

A few short strokes is all it takes before he’s moaning and erupting all over your face and mouth, the hot, thick bands of his spend sticking to your skin wherever they land. He doesn’t stop jerking himself until every last drop is spent. When he’s finally done, he smears his softening cock against your face, collecting his cum in sloppy swipes.

“Now look who is soiled, Little Gem,” he hums. “Clean up the mess you’ve made.” He watches you with half-lidded eyes and a heaving chest. “Wouldn’t want to leave things filthy, would you?”

You oblige and take him into your mouth, sucking and licking until every trace of his spend has been swallowed.

#PPCUGiftExchange2024 #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #pedro pascal characters

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