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#fantasy high party politics

verosvault · 2 months

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🚨SPOILERS FOR FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 6🚨

Dimension20 "Fantasy High Junior Year"

Episode 6 "Party Politics"

Timestamp: 1:46:15

Video Length: 45sec.

Jawbone is an angel! 😭✋

Jawbone has a giant cup of tea. He's in his cardigan with some workout shorts and fuzzy bunny slippers! 😭✋

Adaine: "Thank you. Thank you." *Takes his tea*

Jawbone: "Oh, Uh-oh! Uh-oh, what do we got going on here?"

Adaine: "There's so much sugar."

Jawbone: "Late night study party, huh?"

Kristen: "A real dark night of the soul."

Jawbone: "Hey now."

Kristen touches Jawbone's neck so hard! 😭✋

Adaine: "Kristen got re-dumped." 😭✋

Jawbone: "My niece can be a piece of work. Come here, kiddo."

Kristen: "She was actually kinda nice about it. I love her."

The awesome caption team: (Brennan cringing) 😭✋

Jawbone: "Maybe when the sun's not out, we go on a nice little ride, maybe get a little picnic, PB&J's out on the grass, sunset."

Kristen: "Who's this man? Who's this angel?" 😭✋

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lunarlover12 · 24 days

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Tracker after finding out Kristen can no longer cast spells due to her dead God: "What's gonna happen with you and Augefort?"

Kristen Applebees WITHOUT HESITATION: "I'm gonna be president, bitch."

#luna live blogs fh #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #tracker o'shaughnessey #kristen applebees #i love the chaos that is ally this season #they have gone fully off the rails #and has taken everyone else with them #party politics

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givemewallywestorgivemedeath · 3 months

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I love how Brennan as a DM was all "Riz, you need more than good grades. You need to stand out. You need showstopping extracurriculars." and to Kristen he was all, "I'm going to throw the weight of an entire religion at you, make you relive your family trauma through your brother and give you relationship issues."

Yet, SOMEHOW, when Brennan introduced little miss four dogs, the driven type A rogue, and had her run for president, setting up the perfect foil for Riz's character and an amazing extracurricular for Riz to aim for in one fell swoop, THE ENTIRE PARTY WENT "KRISTEN 4 PREZ!!!! SHRIMP PARTY 2.0!!!"

Don't get me wrong, I love that Ally went for the fucking throat on vibes alone. Like, that was truly loathing at first sight and I love that for them, I really do.

BUT ALSO THAT WAS RIZ'S PLOTLINE KRISTEN. YOU HAVE LIKE THREE PLOTLINES KRISTEN. WHY ARE YOU ADDING MORE TO YOUR PLATE KRISTEN.

#i do love that the entire party without a thought went 'Kristen kill this bitch. politically. then physically'#and riz without a fucking second thought assigned himself as kristens campaign manager #they are so ride or die and i love it #rip Brennan trying to get the plot back of track by having Jawbone be like 'hey Riz dontcha think maybe shes EXACTLY like you?!'#and riz was all 'What? im too busy making buttons and spying to read between your lines. i got tryouts in four minutes'#anyway #wild #im expecting riz to declare that the rat muncher cleric is his nemesis now. just from vibes alone.#riz and kristen just swap enemies for no fucking reason. queer solidarity tbh. love that for them #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #riz gukgak #kristen applebees #brennan lee mulligan

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lovecolibri · 3 months

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"I don't care about this robot, that girl is the villain."

Siobhan is SO real for this. Kipperlilly's energy was vile.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #junior year #adventuring party #some of ya'll have never dealt with 'polite' mean people and it shows

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18catsreading · 2 months

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I know it was a tough conversation but Tracker said some things that Kristen needed to hear. And Kristen is trapped in an ADHD/PTSD nightmare basically bouncing from crisis to crisis with minimal help from the adults in her life, since her parents are total pieces of shit. Never has time to deal with any of the shit she's had to deal with, and basically only has other teenaged idiots to help her navigate new issues and relationships.

Not to diminish Jawbone's help and support, of course. But he's got like 6 "orphaned" teens to wrangle, and none of them will tell anybody else about their issues.

#brennan lee mulligan #dimension 20 #fantasy high junior year #ep 6 party politics #siobhan thompson #lou wilson #ally beardsley #zac oyama #emily axford #brian murphy #aabria iyengar

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whereserpentswalk · 17 days

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The nazis that you see in movies are as much a historical fantasy as vikings with horned helmets and samurai cutting people in half.

The nazis were not some vague evil that wanted to hurt people for the sake of hurting them. They had specific goals which furthered a far right agenda, and they wanted to do harm to very specific groups, (largely slavs, jews, Romani, queer people, communists/leftists, and disabled people.)

The nazis didn't use soldiers in creepy gas masks as their main imagery that they sold to the german people, they used blond haired blue eyed families. Nor did they stand up on podiums saying that would wage an endless and brutal war, they gave speeches about protecting white Christian society from degenerates just like how conservatives do today.

Nazis weren't atheists or pagans. They were deeply Christian and Christianity was part of their ideology just like it is for modern conservatives. They spoke at lengths about defending their Christian nation from godless leftism. The ones who hated the catholic church hated it for protestant reasons. Nazi occultism was fringe within the party and never expected to become mainstream, and those occultists were still Christian, none of them ever claimed to be Satanists or Asatru.

Nazis were also not queer or disabled. They killed those groups, before they had a chance to kill almost anyone else actually. Despite the amount of disabled nazis or queer/queer coded nazis you'll see in movies and on TV, in reality they were very cishet and very able bodied. There was one high ranking nazi early on who was gay and the other nazis killed him for that. Saying the nazis were gay or disabled makes about as much sense as saying they were Jewish.

The nazis weren't mentally ill. As previously mentioned they hated disabled people, and this unquestionably included anyone neurodivergent. When the surviving nazi war criminals were given psychological tests after the war, they were shown to be some of the most neurotypical people out there.

The nazis weren't socialists. Full stop. They hated socialists. They got elected on hating socialists. They killed socialists. Hating all forms of lefitsm was a big part of their ideology, and especially a big part of how they sold themselves.

The nazis were not the supervillians you see on screen, not because they didn't do horrible things in real life, they most certainly did, but because they weren't that vague apolitical evil that exists for white American action heros to fight. They did horrible things because they had a right wing authoritarian political ideology, an ideology that is fundamentally the same as what most of the modern right wing believes.

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elfy-elf-imagines · 3 months

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Tolerate It | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Human!Reader

▹ Genre: Angst

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: A political alliance makes you the new wife of the elven king Thranduil, trapping you in a gilded cage of elven craft.

▹ Notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The banquet hall of Eryn Galen was buzzing with high energy.

The lights were bright, the drinks flowing. Each guest was too deep in their cups as the band played jaunty tunes that kept spirits high. You sat at the end of the table, to the direct right of Thranduil, Legolas seated directly across from you to the king's left.

Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect.

Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention.

Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.

Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone.

You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize.

One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp.

Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable.

The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair.

Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance.

The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years.

Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found.

You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?

"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"

At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.

" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."

Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"

You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.

"I could say the same about you, prince."

He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.

"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?" The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.

"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.

"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."

"You don't need--"

"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."

So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.

"I think I'm technically your stepmother."

"But you feel more like a friend."

You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.

"Then I am glad we are friends."

Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.

Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.

"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."

He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.

Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.

Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.

When would this torment end?

---

The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you.

Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.

The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care.

“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough.

A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?

“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.”

Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.

“It was a bit gauche.”

Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own.

“I thought it looked nice.”

His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash.

“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.

Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror.

“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser.

“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”

“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?”

“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.

“To ensure an alliance with your family.”

“That is it? For no reason other than that.”

Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.

“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--

You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit.

“I see.”

A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.

You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.

“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.”

Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding.

The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

#thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit one shot #the hobbit #lotr imagine #lotr oneshot #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings imagine #middle earth imagines #lotr #tolkien #lord of the rings #lord of the rings oneshot #mirkwood elves #lord of the rings fanfic #king thranduil

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skzdarlings · 2 months

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i do ; skz ; felix x reader

requested by anonymous: ' I would love if you could use these prompts...on Felix x fem reader:❛ i love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. they don't get to have you, but i do. ❜❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜I love possessive Felix, istg i would give amything to have him' plus two anonymous requests for: 'i'd say you need someone to put you in your place' for felix.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: look this request was for possessive!felix and so possessive!felix i delivered. he is a little weirdo in this tbh. but i think after all my anti-rich-guy stories, i have earned the right for one problematic possessive mafia boss who throws his money and his dick around hahaha. so yes, possessive!felix, virgin!reader, wedding night, arranged marriage, felix being a criminal boss, insta-love. reader's backstory involves a verbally abusive/neglectful family. explicit sexual content. word count: 4000 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy <3

Your new husband is astoundingly pretty. You expected a different face to be waiting at the end of the wedding aisle: harsh, old, scarred. Maybe, if you let yourself fantasize, he would be handsome in a rugged way.

You were not expecting Felix. Slender, delicate Felix with his high cheekbones and freckles, his dark eyes and feather-soft blonde hair. He smiled a dimpled smile as your father surrendered your hand.

That surrender was a visual representation of a literal transaction. You were a bartering tool to save your father’s business. You knew an arranged marriage was inevitable when a few trades went sour and the company went bankrupt. The family could only maintain relevancy and safety through a match to someone more powerful.

Lee Felix is the heir to a very dirty criminal syndicate that blends in high society. Everyone knows their money is blood-spattered, but they throw a good party and the jewels sparkle the same.

You knew his name long before the wedding. Of course you knew his name. But you did not know his face. You expected a devil, not a vision of divinity, resplendent in white and gold.

Your heart has not stopped racing since he first lifted your veil and kissed you with lips softer and gentler than your grandest fantasies.

Now you are perched on a lavish bed in a beautiful penthouse suite. The walls are windows, externally tinted but offering you a glorious view of the glittering cityscape at night. You wonder how much of the city your new husband owns.

Would that be an impertinent question? It is not as though there is any real charade to play; this is not a love match and there is no sense pretending otherwise. Enquiring after financial assets is arguably appropriate insofar as business goes.

Then the door opens and your new husband enters. All thoughts of business flitter into nothing, an insignificant detail next to your wedding night. A night with this powerful and beautiful stranger.

“Are you nervous?” he asks in a voice so deep it keeps surprising you. It suits his angelic appearance in a way, something so captivating about its low tones, effortlessly melodic. But that melody is coloured darkly in its depth, scratching a shiver up your spine. When he speaks, it feels like he is trailing his fingers up your back in a curious, searching touch.

He looks at you with as much depth, dark eyes penetrating as he circles the bed. He has been nothing but polite, but you can’t help but feel like prey being circled by a predator.

Even more concerning, you can’t help but like it. Since the moment he took your hand, his eyes have not left you. It is almost overwhelming. You have been invisible your whole life. No one ever looked at you. No one ever wanted you. Your father scared off anyone who tried.

Felix is not just anyone. Anyone sensible would be scared of him.

You are also not just anyone.

“No,” you answer.

“Really?” He lifts a curious eyebrow.

You are both in your wedding clothes, all white and gold. Your veil is draped over a chair in the corner. He puts his coat there too.

He never looks away from you, rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms as he approaches the bed.

“May I ask, why not?” he asks. It’s a funny question, so polite but only posed because he knows his own reputation. He knows what you must think of him. The bloodshed, the ruthlessness, the merciless command he holds over his family’s legacy. He might look unassuming, but he is not to be trifled with. That gentle exterior could be unnerving to some people, even more than an outward brute.

But you have dealt with those brutes your whole life. An abusive father, cruel brother, an uncaring mother. Hurt, neglected, ignored.

Tonight, while you circled the reception to greet everyone, your father and brother pulled you aside. Your mother had already berated you on the details of your appearance, but they were reprimanding you for every other misstep.

You almost burst into tears, tired and frightened. You were so afraid you would never escape them. Even at your wedding, on the cusp of a new life, they were dragging you around, kicking and screaming.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder. Bang Chan, one of Felix’s most trusted agents, stood there with a forced but cordial smile. He looked at you and not your family.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Your husband is asking for you. Please, come with me.”

Your father sputtered indignantly, unaccustomed to such blatant disrespect for his authority. Chan said nothing to him, simply offered you his arm. He also opened his jacket to flash the gun in his chest holster. Your family had their weapons stripped before entering the reception. It was a subtle reminder of who was really in charge.

So your father and brother were left sputtering helplessly as Chan escorted you across the room. Felix was sitting with some of his men, smiling his bright smile and looking like any happy young groom.

That sunny face faltered when he saw your morose expression. His glance passed to your family, a flicker of anger in his gaze. Then he smiled at you and held out a welcoming arm.

“Come here,” he said. “Sit with me a bit. Please.” That deep voice. You felt it like a touch inside you. He had recited the scripted vows earlier. This invitation was his first real address.

You nodded. Your legs were shaky from the confrontation, never mind the wobble from your heels. Your feet hurt. Sitting would be a relief if nothing else.

There was an empty seat behind Felix. It was the type of seat you were usually given: at the back where you could be forgotten.

Once you were within reach, Felix grabbed you around the waist. Your breath caught as you stumbled towards him. He caught you and held you. Then you were sitting in his lap, your dress draped everywhere, a glittering ivory prize perched safe and pretty on his knee. He wrapped a possessive arm around your middle.

It was more than a power play. It was one thing to put you on his lap and show your family that he owned you now, but it was another for him to frown as he touched the painfully tight pearl belt around your waist.

“Why is this so tight?” he asked, looking at you with concern.

“I’m sorry,” you said automatically, in the habit of grovelling whenever someone took a disappointed tone. “My mother,” you spoke softly, not wanting the rest of the table to hear.

He leaned closer to you, offering you his ear directly. A whisper was all you managed, unaccustomed to such attention.

“They’re real pearls,” you whispered. “Very expensive. Very fine. Too fine for me. My mother had the belt made small so I would remember to act worthy of them. Sit straight. Not over-eat. You know.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing. Instinct compelled you to soothe that displeasure, laughing like you were not upset.

“It’s all right,” you said. “She’s right. They are very fine pearls.”

“It’s not all right,” Felix said. He looked at you, held your gaze in his own. You found yourself counting his freckles. “Do you like it?” he asked.

Maybe it was his display of power. Maybe it was his arm around you. Maybe it was the freckles. He looked so sweet, so sincere. You could not bring yourself to lie. Though you had defended your cruel family all your life, the truth fell from your lips in a rough exhale.

“No.�� You felt tears in your eyes. “I know it’s expensive. I know it’s beautiful. But I’ve never hated anything more.”

He held your gaze, your watery eyes in the dark depths of his own.

Then he grabbed the belt by a thin material strand and yanked. A couple pearls popped right off and scattered. The rest dangled on the belt, an absurd amount of wealth in his hand.

Felix tossed it over his shoulder like it was garbage. Then he wrapped his arm around your waist and held you against him.

You chanced a look at your family. They were scandalized. Horrified. And you breathed easier for the first time in a long time. You have long suffered the oppressive strangle of control masquerading as love. His protective arm felt nothing like that pearl belt.

So you look at him now. You strive to articulate all these feelings. You are not used to speaking and having someone listen.

“I can’t explain it,” you say. “Maybe it’s foolish. But I… I just feel like I was meant to be here. With you. Like this.”

Your heart jumps at his expression, a luminous pleasure that brightens this dimly lit room.

“That’s funny,” he says. “I feel the same way.”

You swallow as he sits beside you. Slowly, touch by touch, breath by breath, he is bringing your bodies together. His knee touches yours, his arm your arm. He folds his hands in his lap but he is close enough you can count his freckles again.

“I need to be honest with you,” he says. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you. A year ago. At the winter masquerade.”

You look at him with surprise. All at once, his eyes come back to you, gazing at you behind a golden bird mask at the annual winter social. You couldn’t place the handsome stranger at the time. His hair was dark then, his face in a mask. He did not speak. His distinctive voice would have given him away.

He danced one dance with you, the only person who danced with you all night. You were later reprimanded for behaving like a slut, even though he touched your waist and nothing more.

“You were very kind,” he says. “I watched you with the staff. You were the only one in that whole room to say please and thank you to them – did you know that?” He sighs and looks away, thoughts travelling beyond this room. “I came from nothing,” he says. “My family… we fought to get where we are now. But I remember, you know. What it feels like to be the smallest and least important person in the room.”

You sit straighter when he looks at you. Oh, your heart has not slowed its thunder. Excitement and affection swirl together in a motley tempest of sensation, touched by his words and yearning for more. You thought you had been sold to an uncaring bidder, but Felix touches you slowly, like he would a very fine work of art. His knuckles caress your cheek, the slope of your jaw.

“I thought…” He looks at you reverently. “I thought… I would do anything to preserve that goodness. I would protect it. Like your family wasn’t.” His brow furrows now, a shadow of his face. “They would have ruined you.”

His hand continues, knuckles skimming down your throat, your shoulder, your arm. You shiver. He has a terrible scar, scoring the whole back of his hand. A stark difference to your unblemished hand, your manicured nails against his calloused fingers.

He says, “I know what it’s like to be ruined.”

You look from your hands to his face, his handsome profile, the slope of his nose and his soft lips. He is still looking at your joined hands.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he says. “I’d give anything to have my innocence back. But I can’t.”

He lifts your hand, cradles it between both of his like something precious. Your breath catches when he kisses your palm, lips soft against your skin.

“So I told myself, I would do anything to save yours,” he says. He looks almost… afraid. An expression you never expected to see on this man. “So I destroyed your father’s business,” he says. “It was all me. I knew he would never give you to a man like me unless he had no choice. He would have given you away to one of his friends and they would have broken you. But you were already mine. So I left him no choice but to see things my way.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised beyond all words.

“I wanted you to know before anything… happens… between us,” he says. “But I understand if your feeling are complicated. Or if you… fear me.”

Your father has often boasted how many men fear him. It does not sound like a boast from Felix, rather something lamentable. His face is shadowed in shame.

“My feelings are not complicated,” you say. He is still holding your hand in both of his. You lay your other hand there, a complete joining.

He meets your gaze, an intense and imploring stare.

“I’m not my father’s daughter anymore,” you say. “I’m my husband’s wife. My loyalty is to you. My place is with you.”

“Yes,” he says, spoken on a breath. His smile returns. “Your place. I’d say you need someone to put you in your place. Your rightful place.”

He springs off the bed like there is lightning under his feet. He is all smiles and sunlight again, a beacon in the blue dark of this room. You cannot help but bask in his warmth, bereft in the chill when he leaves your side.

He takes something from his discarded coat pocket, a case swathed in velvet, soft to the touch. You hold it, admiring the texture.

He kneels behind you on the bed while you open it. Inside is the most breathtaking necklace you have ever seen in your life. When you lift it, the chain is long, designed to sit low, loose around your neck. No more chokers. No more pearls.

“Oh, Felix,” you say, breathless and amazed, then very embarrassed. You are not used to such lovely gifts. Even the pearls were a punishment. “I can’t accept this…” you say, stunned.

“You can,” he says.

He takes the clasp then strings the necklace around you. His fingers on the nape of your neck have you shivering. The necklace clasps in place, then his lips are on your neck, a chaste press that nonetheless lights fire under your skin. “It was made for you,” he says. “Like you were made for me.”

He takes the zipper of your gown between two careful fingers, so slowly lowering it. It feels like you are unravelling with it. The zipper reaches the base of your spine and his fingertips dance across your bare skin.

He steps off the bed. He looks down at you, his eyes intense but his smile soft. He touches your cheek, strokes his thumb across it lovingly.

Then he is sinking to his knees in front of you. You already feel weak as jelly, but your whole body goes soft and pliant when he gently grasps your ankle, when he slides your painful shoe off your foot and tosses it aside. He somehow finds every sore spot and rubs it better.

“This is how it works,” he says. He is on his knees but somehow his presence looms bigger than you. You cannot look away from the thrall of his gaze. “You are my wife. And when we are out there, I am your servant.” He takes your other foot and removes that shoe as well. He massages you gently. “I will never deny you anything,” he says. “You can ask me for anything. All right? I will give you the whole world. I will give you my whole heart. In return, I only want one thing.”

“What’s that?” you ask, already breathless.

“I am your husband,” he says, “and in here, you are my servant. Only I can touch you. Only I will have you. All of you. In every way. Always, starting from today. Starting from right now.”

“Yes. Yes. But I – I’ve never done this before,” you say, aching to surrender but fearful he will regret this. Though you are knowledgeable, you are lacking in experience from years of isolation. “I’ve been alone for so long,” you say. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You don’t,” he says. He lifts your leg, swoops down to kiss your calf, then higher: your knee, your thigh. “You could never,” he says, guiding your leg to rest on his shoulder. He gathers the volume of your wedding dress in his hands and pushes it up, up.

You almost forget to breathe. He kisses higher on your thigh. Then he grabs the thin material of your white tights and rips them open.

“You’re mine,” he says. “You’ve always been mine.”

You fall back on your elbows, limbs already quivering as he tears through your underclothes as if impatiently ripping open a prettily wrapped gift. With your expensive lace panties shredded and your tights in tatters, he pushes your skirts up and out of his way. You hold them while he kisses up your thigh. He runs his tongue along the seam between your thigh and somewhere much more sensitive.

“No one else has done this to you?” he asks. He already looks flushed. Desperate.

“No,” you answer. You swallow hard. “Never.” You know some men do not enjoy providing this type of pleasure to their wives, so you are about to tell him that you have no expectations in that regard—

But then he is on you like a starving man, eyes closed and mouth open and licking through all that wet desire. You fall on your back, pressing your heel into his back. He groans, pressing deeper, tongue seeking, swiping, stroking.

He grips your thighs possessively, holding you in place as he ravages you with his mouth. He takes you up and over a blissful crest. It leaves you a drenched and panting mess.

He stands, wiping his arm across his wet mouth. He does not look satisfied, eyes still hungry as he climbs on top of you.

“My wife,” he says, like the word is sacred and impossible, like he thought a man like him could never say it. “All mine,” he says, running his hands up your thighs, up your waist, touching every inch of you until he is cradling your face delicately in his careful but calloused hands.

It makes your whole body clench up tightly, your breath stuttering as he kisses you. You melt into the kiss, so different from the chaste peck of your ceremony. It is a claiming kiss, the taste of you still on his lips, his moan in your mouth, his chest against yours as those sounds of pleasure rumble through him.

He tugs down your bodice, then he is ripping through your underclothes again. When your bodice is around your waist and your chest is bare except for his necklace, you find yourself covering your breasts instinctively. He takes your hands, not forcefully but firmly, holding your gaze. His mouth is already so pink and raw from kissing. You wonder if you look as ravished. Maybe more. It makes you whimper, surrendering when he pins your hands on either side of your head.

“This is mine,” he says, kissing your jaw, your throat, then lower. “All mine, sweetheart.”

He wraps his lips around a pointed nipple and you feel the reaction between your legs, as if connected by a thread. Your legs try to close around his hips but he presses down. The crumpled skirt of your dress is between you, but he feels your thighs clenching, feels you desperately bucking.

Even his chuckle is a deep sound. He smiles at you, batting his eyelashes as he licks the curve of your breast. Your whole body twitches again.

“Mm,” he says. “You feel that? You getting all tight… and hot… just for me…”

“Felix,” you say, you beg.

He sits back on his heels to get your wedding dress off. It is a flurry of ivory and silk, earning some laughter, then it is gone and your husband is staring down at you. Again, you feel like prey, like a meal spread out helplessly for some predatory creature. Again, you like it.

He is just as impatient with his own clothes. He does not look away from you while tearing his shirt open. Buttons fly, forgotten, and he rips the material down his arms and off. His belt is next, leather whistling through the air then joining the heap on the floor. He grabs your hand and guides it to the hard shape in his white pants, groaning deep in his chest as your palm curves around it.

You are so captivated him, by the way he feels, by the sounds he makes, that you are surprised when he touches you too. Your legs part instinctively, then your thighs twitch to close when you are embarrassed by your eagerness.

“Don’t be shy,” he says. “Not with me.” His fingers feel divine inside you, gliding as if through silk, pressing at your walls and making you whimper. “Yeah, my baby. So nice… ‘n wet… for me…” he murmurs, more to himself than you. It still makes you clench, like your body wants him deeper, pulling tight around him. “God. Perfect.”

“Aren’t we g-gonna—” Your eyes drop to his waistband, then up to his eyes again.

He smiles, laughs, and withdraws his fingers slowly.

“Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he says, unbuttoning his pants. “We are. Be patient. You’re gonna enjoy this. Gonna remember this night forever.” He leans down so his body is over yours. He kisses you, presses you into the pillows. When he pulls back, he traces a finger along the necklace, smiling brightly. “The first time I made you mine,” he says, speaking low and soft against your lips. “I’m going to do everything with you,” he says. “And you’re gonna want it. All of it and more.”

He has you begging for more already. When he finally is pushing inside you, after so much torturous build-up, you are a breathless, sweaty tangle of limbs. It feels like he is pinning you to the mattress, taking you so deep and so hard, like your whole body is changing to fit him. There is a long, slow burn, but you are so wet and he is so careful; it is an ache that gives way to pleasure.

His arms are around you, holding him above you, making you feel so completely shielded and enveloped. He starts a slow pace that turns more frantic. Your hands move all over his chest and shoulders to find a grip.

“I love that no one else has seen you like this,” he says, grabbing your searching hand. He brings it to his mouth, kisses your palm, your fingers. He puts your hand on his shoulder, then he slides his hand under your head to cup your neck, holding you steady while he rolls his hips into yours. “That no one else has felt you before,” he says. “Been inside you. They don't get to have you, but I do.“

“Yes,” you say. “Always. My husband.”

“Mm.” He drops his forehead to yours. “My wife.”

You come again but it feels different, starting deep inside you and rolling outward, a full-body spasm that has you crying out his name. He comes too, holding you against him, his lips on your neck as he says your name.

Then he kisses you. Then he lays you down. He wraps you in his arms and squeezes.

“Sleep for now,” he says. “It’s been a long day. And I want you again.”

“You have me,” you say, nestling in his arms, your head under his chin.

“Yes,” he says with a smile. He looks so sweet even while his wicked hands hold your body in a strong, possessive grip. “I do.”

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix smut #felix smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x you #felix x you #valentinesdaystories

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rebuke-me · 2 months

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no because I'm gonna fantasy high analysis, spoilers for the most recent episode of junior year (EP 9)

so we all know the rat grinders are clear bad kid parallels. this is a thing that's well known and pretty obvious.

and buddy dawn is a parallel of Kristen. he's what she used to be, what she almost was if it wasn't for the bad kids and her experiences and her strength to leave helio. he's condescending and smiles too much and pretends to drink to be cool, but everyone knows it's just water. he's ready to talk about helio, to spread the good word, hes proper and polite and cordial but with the underlying condescension of a boy raised under horrible ideals.

but even more heartbreaking to me is that there's another kristen parallel. because lucy frostblade is also a kristen parallel. both of them have gods who others perceive as negative. winter and sorrow, mystery and doubt. the two go hand in hand. but each of them wants to worship in a way that's helpful, that's kind and caring and deeply human, despite only one of them being "human." warmth, not despite the cold, but because of it. safety, not despite the doubt, but found within it. at their core, they're both deeply kind, caring, struggling teenagers. they want to do the right thing, but they're trying to grapple with religious changes and paperwork and life in general.

and both lucy and kristen have a deep connection to nameless gods. dead gods, ones who maybe they could have saved if they just tried a little harder. they've both come face to face with death. kristen got a second chance, a third chance, as many as she needed. lucy didn't have that luxury.

if kristen hadn't changed from helio, hadn't had her journey of love and acceptance and discovery, maybe she would be a buddy dawn, standing in the corner of a party and judging everyone there for living their lives wrong, always on the outskirts.

but maybe she'd be a lucy frostblade, beaten down, bruised, brutalized, just for loving in a way that people couldn't accept. for caring too much. for being too kind.

because at kristens center has always been a girl who wants to make friends, to keep them safe, to heal and save and bring light.

after all, mortals are made to keep each other warm.

#Kristen applebees #buddy dawn #Lucy frostblade #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fantasy high spoilers #fantasy high junior year spoilers #d20 spoilers #d20 #dimension 20 #fhjy spoilers

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whalesforhands · 10 months

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I just stumbled across your page and I am LOVING the whole stsg×reader collection ❤️❤️

Not sure if you mind me dropping this here but I love a good cliché truth or dare!!! (sry for any grammar mistakes btw English isn't my first language)

Imagine stsg, shoko and reader all sitting in suguru's room and just spinning an empty bottle to see who the next poor unfortunate soul is going to be. It lands on reader and the attention flusters her too much, so she panics and picks dare, only to regret it instantly when an evil grin is etched on everyone's face (esp satoru's).

Unfortunately for reader, satoru is quick to suggest ideas, most of them getting shot down by the other two as they deadpan at his (very obvious) attempt at getting you to fulfill his little fantasies.

The chaos was absolutely unimaginable, with satoru whining dramatically and suguru smacking him, shoko aiding the latter as she (most definitely not) gently kicks him.

In the end everyone agrees on you kissing each of them on their cheeks, though satoru might have snuck a little peck on your lips while the other two weren't looking hehe.

ANON THE WAY I DROPPED MY OTHER DRAFTS TO GO WRITE FOR THIS ONE AHHH

I HOPE U LIKE THIS CAUSE I LIKED THIS IDEA

party games are my way into your heart (gojo x reader x geto, shoko x reader)

warnings: gojo’s harassment, kisses, only shoko and geto have rizz, gojo stans why are so many of you in my inbox, and why are all of you so damn horny for him

“Excuse my intrusion…” You had said, taking your shoes off before you entered Suguru’s room.

You could swear you didn’t mean to be late. It’s just… You weren’t used to meeting all three of them out of your uniform.

(You spent majority of the time thinking about what to wear.)

Your infamous thigh high socks, and a comfortably casual outfit consisting of a skirt Shoko had lent you, an inner shirt and a jacket.

(Shoko picked out the outfit for you. “The highlight are your socks.” She had smirked, digging them out from your closet.)

Now, sat inbetween Ieiri and Satoru on Suguru’s carpet, you felt nervous as you politely crossed your legs.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

It spun and spun and spun.

It landed on you.

Oh. You’ve never had that happen before.

(You never even played this game in your life.)

“Truth or dare?”

Uh… What are you meant to pick? Is truth too safe? Will choosing the easy option make you lame? Does Ieiri like it when people choose dare? Why does Satoru look so excited? Does Suguru-

“Uh, uhm… Dare?”

You’ve really gone and done it now.

Satoru grins, Suguru smiles. Ieiri downs another sip of her drink.

Satoru speaks first.

“Take off your thigh highs and give them to me.”

…what? Your… socks? You stare dumbfoundedly at Satoru. Why would he want that?

You looked him in the eye. His eyes were glowing, a thin smile on his lips as he shifted a bit closer to you.

Oh. He’s being serious. Not a bad dare, you suppose.

You slowly begin to peel them off before Satoru was dragged away from you, Suguru’s hand coming to stop your own.

“No, no. You don’t have to do that.” He had sweat on his brow, worry etched on his face as a pink blush encompassed his cheeks. “He was just joking.”

Shoko’s grip on Gojo’s collar tightened. A smile on her face as her eyebrows dipped downwards in irritation. “Just. Joking. Right?” Each word was enunciated with venom.

Gojo sputtered, “What about just one sock?”

Another elbow to his gut.

(“Sit on my lap?” No.)

(“Wear my clothes!” Absolutely not.)

(“Let me feed you alc-“ Nope.)

“How about just… Giving us all kisses?”Glares direct themselves at Gojo, what, how uncomfortable is he trying to make you?

“On the cheek!” He put his hands out defensively, as if trying to shield himself from any incoming attacks.

——

Gently pecking one of Ieiri’s cheeks, you gently turn her head and place another sweet kiss on the other, smiling as you part ways from her.

She is always so sweet. Her perfume emanated fragrantly from her, dressed in her cute sweater and shorts.

You hold her hand in one of yours, gently squeezing it as you stare at her.

(“You both done over there yet?”)

——

He watched you as you turned over to him. Your eyes hazy as you settled by his side, a hand on one of his broad shoulder as you leaned up, closing your eyes.

Suguru pleasantly sighs as he feels your lips upon his face, your other hand reaching across his chest to steady yourself on his other shoulder as you land another shy peck on his other cheek, a smile on his face throughout.

He opens his eyes to look at you, staring deep into your eyes. He sees you shift forward once more.

(Did you just give him an extra one? Adorable.)

(“Can you both hurry up?”)

——

Gojo Satoru feels wronged when he has to go last. He was the one suggested this, why does he need to go last?!

He pouts when he feels you press your cute lips to one of his cheeks, his sunglasses teasingly removed from his face by you and carefully held in your hand, the other pressing itself against his chest to steady yourself.

He deserves more, doesn’t he?

As he feels you move to his other side, a devious plan forms.

He closes his eyes, shifting to be face to face with you as you lean in to give him his other kiss. He can’t mess up this timing.

You were surprised to feel his soft lips against your own instead of his smooth cheek. A strong hand coming up to pull you in closer as you kneeled, wide-eyed and surprised before the hazy feeling disappeared all too soon.

Satoru pulled away first, winking at you as he reached for his sunglasses.

masterlist

Notes:

“That’s harassment, you dirty, disgusting man!”

“Satoru… I’m disappointed in you…”

You were still in shock, your fingers reaching to feel the lip balm smothered on your lips. It was strawberry flavoured.

“Satoru,” Your quiet voice began, stopping the two shaking a laughing Gojo Satoru around.

“What… Brand is your lip balm?”

He gave you a brand new one he had in his dorm room later on.

#geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo x reader #whalewrites #getou suguru x reader x gojo satoru #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #getou suguru x reader #shoko ieiri x reader #satosugu x reader #dyf au

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republicansaredomesticterrorists · 3 months

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In 1832 Andrew Jackson stomped out the “nullification theory” when South Carolina declared federal law “null and void” and threatened to secede.

Historical figures are multi-faceted and led complex public and private lives. While justly regarded as a monster for what he did to Native Americans he also prevented a potential civil war and kept the union together. However one action does not necessarily balance the scales. History and politics is not black and white and will always remain shades of grey.

Governor Abbott is a political showman keeping the redneck fantasy of Tex-ass secession alive. They tell the Tex-ass MAGAts that Texas-ass is the only state not connected to the power grid because someday they might secede again. Truth is they keep it separate because Tex-ass RepubliKKKlans and their top 1% masters are all major shareholders in the ERCOT grid and make millions from price gouging their own constituents.

The border is something the RepubliKKKlans revisit every election year. They stir up the uneducated and misinformed base with racist and xenophobic nativist talk of an invasion and then when the election is over they do little or nothing about it.

Two years ago Republican operatives were detained in Brazil and questioned about their role in organizing migrant convoys and sending them to the U.S. southern border to make the Dems look bad. We all know they do this but the tv news won’t cover it. The far-right always gets a free pass by tv news. If you want real news about politics you have to go to respected print media and their associated websites for the whole story.

Greg Abbott will continue to human traffick migrants across the country and kill them at the border. US law supersedes state laws and he has no business messing with immigration. He’s trying to provoke a showdown with Biden so he can claim Joe is a dictator and rally the deplorable base. Biden is commander-in-chief of the Texas National Guard and could have the Defense Department order them to stand down but that would be risky politically so instead he keeps beating Abbott in court. Even if Biden ordered the Texas National Guard to stand down, Texas has a large state militia called the Texas State Guard that only answers to the governor and is not connected to the federal government. Abbott could always order those yahoos to commit atrocities against migrants and block federal agents. It’s all about creating a certain false perception of Dems appearing to want open borders.

Tex-ass once had a thriving economy that contributed to the federal government. However in the past 20 years Republicans have held power there and driven the state into the ground. Economically and socially it is now bordering on being a failed 3rd world state where oligarchs and gunslinging nativist white supremacists run amok. Tex-ass like most other red states is now a welfare state taking more from the federal government than it turns in. A handful of blue economic powerhouse states in the northeast and on the west coast now support nearly the entire nation. We pay high taxes that go to support Confederate states and the oligarchs that get perpetual kickbacks there.

#republican assholes #Greg Abbott murderer #Tex-ass secession #nullification is unconstitutional #Greg Abbott human trafficker #Tex-as republicans

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18catsreading · 2 months

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Buddy: I heard that these high school parties in Solace were wild, but whew, this is really wild!

Fabian: it's a new year and it's a new era.

Buddy: so your father got this house from theft.

Fabian: mm, well ...

Adaine: he was a privateer.

Fabian: no, no we don't say that anymore. We had a big fight.

Adaine: oh

Fabian: he was a pivate. He killed and murdered lots of people. Um. But I guess this ship was his.

Buddy: well, I know in my heart that in his final moments, he must have repented and gone--

Fabian: no. No. He's in hell now

Buddy: no!

Fabian: fighting the Devil himself.

Buddy: no don't say that about your --

Fabian: no, I've visited him.

Adaine: oh he's so happy there. He would not like it in Heaven.

Fabian: yes, he actually really likes it there. he got a third arm.

Adaine: his boat is made of a dragon. It's rad.

Fabian: you should go to hell sometime. I mean, I know you don't want to, but it's fun.

Buddy: so, I'm gonna give this milk back.

Fabian: are you sure?

Buddy: yea

Fabian: well, if you choose to be a bad baby--

Adaine: I'll take it

Fabian: yes

Siobhan: I'm double fisting bad baby milk

Fabian: we got a whole year for you to decide you wanna be a bad baby

Buddy: no, if I was gonna be a baby, I would want to be a baby that walks in the light of the corn God.

Fabian: oh that's so -- you know, our friend Kristen was a big cornhead when we met. I mean I guess that's rude to say. Was a big follower of Helio when we first met her.

Buddy: she was the chosen one

Fabian: yea

Adaine: sure

Buddy: she was chosen by Helio.

Adaine: who's the chosen one now? You're the chosen one?

Fabian: are you the chosen one?

Adaine: Are you the chosen one now? [Still double fisting milk and vodka]

Brennan: here, you see he gets kinda somber and he always [as Buddy]: well that's not really how it works. When Kristen left the church we lost our chosen one.

Adaine: oh

Fabian: mm

Buddy: how's things working out with her new God, though?

Adaine: oh my God, her new God is, like, rad

Fabian: so sick

Adaine: so sick, so many people love her

Fabian: yea, I follow--

Adaine: and they get on really well

Fabian: yea they have awesome -- there's this guy that they hang out with named Craig.

Adaine: oh that guy rules

Fabian: Craig is a firecracker

Adaine: and okay, like Helio chose her, but she chose Cassandra. And like, that's--

Fabian: yes

Adaine: -- important

Ally: I'm crying

Fabian: so you know, it's awesome. It's awesome.

Adaine: yea

Buddy: well, that's lovely. Is Kristen around somewhere? I mean, other than right here? Hi, Kristen. [Gestures to Fig, who is disguised as Kristen]

Emily: oh! I forgot I was here. [As Fig pretending to be Kristen]: uh, I'm glad you said all of those true things about me.

Fabian: of course

Fig/"Kristen": I'm gonna go do another shrimp jump.

Fabian: yes, hold it down!

Ally: another shrimp jump?!

Buddy: you're gonna do another shrimp jump? It can't possibly be as good as the first.

Fabian: oh, you'll see about that

Adaine: oh we'll see about that

Buddy: it can't possibly be as good as the first!

Riz: you're right it can't possibly be as good as the first, that's true

Buddy: okay

Riz: maybe just --

Buddy: okay! Hey everybody, we're about to see another shrimp jump! Here we go!

Fabian: rack em up! Rack em up! Rack em up!

Fig: hangman, I need you to move that fiery tartar sauce to light the ramp on fire so we can't do this, okay?

Hangman: you need me to burn the ramp so that it is unusable?

Fig: yea

Hangman: very well

Brennan: you see that the hangman says "ah, I'm going to put my shrimp costume back on" and then goes around a hedge and emerges in hell hound form. And you see that Buddy goes [as Buddy]: oh my God! A servant of the devil! [As Brennan]: And you see that he says [as the Hangman]: go fuck yourself! [As Brennan]: and then rushed off and breathes fire all over the ramp and sets fire to it

*whole group exclaims dramatically* oh shit!

Gorgug: smells good

Brennan: yea all that butter

#brennan lee mulligan #dimension 20 #fantasy high junior year #ep 6 party politics #siobhan thompson #lou wilson #ally beardsley #zac oyama #emily axford #brian murphy

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